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FROM 


EVE OF THE OLD TO THE MARYS OF THE 
NEW TESTAMENT 


BY 


P. C. HEADLEY. 

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AUBURN: 

DERBY, MILLER & CO. 
1850 . 





Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1850, by 
DERBY, MILLER & CO., 

In the Clerk’s Office for the Northern District of New Y T ork. 


H. OLIPHANT, PRINTER, ACBURN. 





TO 

IRENE, 

Y ONLY AND BELOVED SISTER, 

THIS VOLUME 

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It was not the design of adding essentially to Biblical 
Literature, neither the cacocthes scribendi, that induced the 
Author to increase the number of similar works which 
have appeared. 

It was the suggestion of another, enforced by the consid¬ 
eration, that while there are elegant Gift Books of Female 
Scripture Biography, there is no volume of the kind for 
more general reading. The Bible is a book of facts, devel¬ 
oping all the great principles of moral obligation which 
concern man. In these sketches it has been the steady aim 
to preserve those principles inviolate, and where the ima¬ 
gination has aided in completing the narrative, as con¬ 
stantly to observe the known laws of human action, and 
their peculiar modification in the Hebrew commonwealth. 

The sketch of “ The Queen of Sheba,” is from the pen 
of the Rev. H. W. Parker; and by permission a few ex¬ 
tracts are taken from a recent work entitled, “ Sacred Scenes 
and Characters.” 







Vlll 


PREFACE. 


The Frontispiece and tasteful illustrations are from Origi¬ 
nal Designs, by the promising young Artist, C. L. Derby. 

The biographies are in chronological order, and will 
make an outline of Scripture History, including nearly all 
the heroic and distinguished women of the Sacred Annals. 

The circumstances under which they were written will 
unavoidably leave traces of haste ; but the volume is com¬ 
mitted to the tide of popular favor, and will fulfill its mis¬ 
sion if it breathe encouragement to the maternal heart, and 
infuse the spirit of their high destiny to any extent, into 
the minds of the women of America; a land, which in its 
moral, no less than civil aspect is the world’s modern Pal¬ 
estine. 



I.—EVE. 

Adam alone in Paradise.—His first interview with Eve.—Her Temp¬ 
tation and Fall.—Birth of Abel.—His Uealli.—The old age and 
last hours of Eve....... 13 

If.—SARAH. 

Sarah’s Youth and Marriage.—Life in Palestine.—Abram’s visit to 
the Court of Pharaoh.—She entertains Angels.—Hagar’s Exile.— 

Birth of Isaac.—Hagar banished the second time.—Sacrifice of 
Isaac.—Sarah’s Death and Burial... 27 

III.—REBEIvAH. 

The embassy of Isaac to Haran.—Rebekah at the Well.—The scene 
in the Domestic Circle—Departure for Canaan—Isaac walking 
in the Fields sees the servant coming, aud goes forth to meet his 
Bride. —Rebekah’s Death.—Her Character..... 45 

IV.—RACHEL. 

Jacob’s Journey to Haran.—Resting by the well, Rachel comes 
with her Flock.—Makes himself known.—Serves seven years for 
her,—The fraud of Laban compels him to take Leah, and render 
another seven years’service for Rachel—The Flight.—Her Death. 65 









X 


CONTENTS. 


V.—MIRIAM. 

Miriam by the Nile.—Passage of the Red Sea, and her Song.—Her 
Fall.—Death and Burial.—Power of Faith- 75 

VI.—DEBORAH. 

Deborah beneath the Palm-tree at Bethel.—Her interview with Ba¬ 
rak.—The Summoning to Battle.—The Conflict and Victory.— 

Song of Deborah and Barak.—Her Character__ 91 

VII.—JEPTHA’S DAUGHTER. 

Jeptha in Exile.—Called to the Generalship of the Army.—His Vow. 

—The Victory and Return.—Met by his Daughter.—Her Lamenta¬ 
tion and Sacrifice.- 105 

VII r.—DELILAH. 

Life’s Contrasts.—Samson’s Love and Fall.—Scene from Samson 
Agonistes.—The Temple of Dagon Overthrown.—Delilah com¬ 
pared with the Hebrew Women__ 115 

IX.—RUTH. 

The Design other History.—The Trial in Moab. Ruth and Naomi 
return to Bethlehem.—Ruth Gleaning in the Field of Boaz — His 
Generosity .—1 alls in Love with the beautiful Moabitess, and Mar¬ 
ries Her.-Her Character____ 127 

X—HANNAH. 

Her Trial and Faith.—The annual Pilgrimage to Shiloh.—Her Prayer 
and the Answer.—Birth and Consecration of Samuel.—Maternal 
Influence.____ 141 

XT.—QUEEN OF SHEBA. 

Description of Arabia, the Queen’s Realm.—Her Character,—Jour¬ 
ney to Solomon’s Court.—The Royal Interview.—Her Return._ 

Woman’s Sphere. 









CONTENTS. 


XI 


XII.—JEZEBEL. 

Jezebel’s Marriage and Influence over the King.—Her Persecution 
of the Prophets.—She is unmoved by the Miracle on Mount Car¬ 
mel.—The Murder of Naboth.—The Queen’s Tragical Death.— 
Comparative Seclusion a blessing to Woman_.._ 173 

XIII.—ATHALIAH. 

The Family of Ahab —Athaliah marries Prince Jehoram, and enters 
on her career of Crime.—Massacre of the ‘‘Seed Royal,” and Pre¬ 
servation of Joash.—The Revolution.—Athaliah slain.—Origin of 
Monarchy....... 187 

XIV.—THE SHUNAMITE. 

Internal evidence of Inspiration of the Bible.—Shunem.—The Wo¬ 
man entertains Elisha.—Promise of a Son.—The Boy goes to the 
harvest fields, is smitten with disease, borne to his Mother, and 
dies at Noon.—The Shunamite hastens to the Mountain Home of 
Elisha.—He restores to her the Sleeper.......____ 195 

XV.—ESTHER. 

Vast consequences from small events.—The Festival of Ahasuerus. 

—He commands the Queen to grace the Banquet with her Pres¬ 
ence. The Refusal and Divorce.—Esther’s appearance with the 
beautiful maidens in the King’s Palace.—Ilaman’s Plot, and Es¬ 
ther’s Petition.—Her success and noble character................ 5209 

XVI—ELIZABETH. 

The Promise of a Messiah.—Zacharias in the Temple.—Family 
Scenes.—Birth of John.—Maternal influence upon the Baptist’s 
Character--.................--- 229 

XVII.—THE VIRGIN MARY. 

Her interview with the Angel.—Visit to Elizabeth.—Joseph’s Trial. 

—The Sojourn at Bethlehem.—The Family keep the Passover at 
Jerusalem.—Their residence in Nazareth.—The Marriage in Cana. 

—Scene at the door of the Synagogue in Capernaum.—Mary at the 
Cross.—In the“ Upper Room” at Jerusalem, after Christ’s Ascen¬ 
sion, with the praying Disciples. 239 








XU 


CONTENTS. 


XVIII.—THE SISTERS, MARTHA AND MARY. 

The Sisters, Martha and Mary.—Contrast between the Old and the 
New Dispensation.—The Family of Bethany.—Lazarus’ Sickness 
and Death.—His Resurrection.—The distinguishing traits in the 
Characters of Martha and Mary.—The Saviour’s last Supper and 
Interview with them--- 261 

XIX.—TABITHA, OR DORCAS. 

Joppa.—Tabitha’s Residence there, her Character, and Death. -She 
is raised from the dead by Peter.—Woman’s Influence as a Maid¬ 
en, Wife, and Mother............ 275 


Errata. —In the haste with which the printed sheets passed through the 
press, the following errors occurred. 

Page 28,1st line from top, read nomads for “monads.’’ 

“ 33, 11th line from bottom, insert of /car after “ excitement.” 

“ 53,2nd line from bottom, insert of after “ unseen.” 

“ 233, 8th line from top, read flowed for “ flamed.” 

“ 244, 3rd line from bottom, read ravages for “ rages.” 

“ 247, 1st line from bottom, read frown for “ form ” 

“ 259, 5th line from bottom, read ascription for “ occupation.” 

“ 252, 6th line from top, read levity lor “ lenity.” 

A few other typographical errors will bo corrected in the stereotype 
edition. 





Eve has a brief biography in the Sacred 
Record. Without childhood or youth, she 
came from the moulding hand of her Cre¬ 
ator, in the full maturity of her powers, and 
in the perfection of human beauty. 

To Adam as he awakened from repose, 
she came like a morning vision—the bright 
presence of a celestial. How long he had 
been alone in Paradise, we do not know. 

But he had held communion with God and 
2 



14 


EVE. 


the angels; and given names to the varie¬ 
ties of animal creation, which passed before 
him in obedient homage to their solitary 
king. He had looked with rapture upon 
the high arch of his wide domain, with its 
wandering clouds and nightly stars—upon 
the flashing rivers, and waving foliage with 
its golden fruit. 

The world of thought within, was pure 
and beautiful as the world without. Rea¬ 
son was unshaken in its majesty and clear 
in its judgment tone, conscience perpetual¬ 
ly peaceful, and the heart tuned to the har¬ 
monies of Heaven. “ He was great yet 
disconsolate ” in his garden of manifold de¬ 
lights. He heard sometimes the voice of 
Jehovah, but it came to his listening ear 
with the authority of a Sovereign. The 
Seraphim walked with him in the groves 
of Eden, but they were of a higher and 
more etherial nature. Besides, they left 


EVE. 


15 


him to many hours of solitude, in which no 
language of sympathy broke on his contem¬ 
plations. Around him, in all the myriads 
of submissive creatures, he found in none 
the light of thought and the dignity of moral 
character. It is not strange that with a 
human soul , if a shadow of mysterious lone¬ 
liness at times passed over his ample brow. 
He longed for a being who could enter into 
the sphere of meditation and feeling pecu¬ 
liar to man. This, his only want, was grat¬ 
ified by the Deity, when he brought the 
first maiden and wife, in u unadorned beau¬ 
ty ,’ 7 to his beating heart. He received with 
joyful welcome his fair companion, and re¬ 
cognized the object of his social affections. 

They flowed freely from their unsullied 
fountain, and were reciprocated with the 
confiding love of woman. She was his 
equal in origin and immortality; and they 
went forth from the marriage rite, which 


16 


EVE. 


fell from the lips of God, to contemplate his 
works, and lift an anthem of praise—the 
first epithalamium of earth. To Adam, 
Paradise must have put on new glory, and 
the very trees seemed to toss their green 
crowns in gladness above his path. 

He told Eve what God had done in fit¬ 
ting up their abode, and gave her the names 
of animals sporting by her side. 

When he paused before the mystic “ tree 
of the knowledge of good and evil/’ near 
which were the spreading and luxuriant 
branches of the “tree of life,” he repeated 
the awful sanctions of eternal Law, which 
invested that single tree with fearful inter¬ 
est. It pointed like an index-finger to the 
skies, and reminded them of the holiness 
and authority of the Infinite Lawgiver. It 
was there, though one among thousands, in 
solitary and solemn sublimity, at once a 
memorial of love, a test of loyalty, and a 


EVE. 


17 


beacon of warning, bidding them beware 
how they dashed madly down the preci¬ 
pice of moral ruin. They contemplated 
that forbidden object silently, until they 
bowed and prayed for strength to walk in 
obedience, erecting beneath its shade a fam¬ 
ily altar to the Lord. 

Beautiful scene! Heaven bent lovingly 
over it, and 

-“ Aside the Devil turned, 

For envy.” 

So time passed on, with no chronometer 
but the joy of holy affection—with no dial 
but the shadows of evening that brought no 
gloom, and the dawn of morning that re¬ 
vealed more of the glorious Giver, and 
added new notes of praise to their hymns 
of worship. 

But one day Eve wandered alone amid 
the bowers of the garden, and the fallen 
Archangel watched her goings and plotted 


18 


EVE. 


her ruin. He understood the subtle power 
of influence wielded with the magic of 
genius, and approached her with a question 
touching the possibility that Jehovah could 
with propriety prohibit any pleasurable in¬ 
dulgence. The purity of Eve’s mind was 
stained by indecision ; she did not repel the 
insinuation and affirm the justness of the 
interdiction. 

The tempter became more positive, and 
assured her that she might partake of the 
fruit without apprehension of the threatened 
death, and would besides, attain a glorious 
pre-eminence in knowledge. She listened, 
and cast a glance of desire upon the pen¬ 
dant boughs, whose fragrant harvest seemed 
to invite her touch. Fatal pause ! the first 
act in a moral revolution, extending over 
the ages of time and the cycles of eternity. 

“ Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she ate.” 

Could she then have looked down the 


EVE. 


19 


stream of history, and read all the tragedies 
that moment of pleasure was preparing for 
the souls of her offspring, how would her 
heart have burst with agony, and tears of 
blood have stained that cheek, flushed with 
the excitement of the conflict with con¬ 
science, and the enjoyment of her uncon¬ 
scious fall. Pleased with the achievement, 
and meeting not immediately the mysteri-' 
ous doom she had feared, Eve sought the 
bower of Adam, and urged him to eat of 
the pleasant fruit; for it was truly as the 
serpent had said. He, too, fell before the 
temptation presented in two-fold strength, 
and the victory of “ the powers of dark¬ 
ness” was complete. 

A long and exultant shout went through 
the arches of hell, and methinks every harp 
in Heaven was silent, while a convulsive 
throb was felt in every angel’s bosom, and 
a shadow of disappointment, wonder, and 


20 


EVE. 


grief, passed over the features of the celes¬ 
tial host. 

Eve soon appears in a new character. 
With him her influence had ruined—she 
had gone forth an exile, with the curse of 
God pursuing her—and became a mother . 
In some lonely valley, or on a mountain 
side of the world’s vast wilderness, with 
no cheering accents but the voice of Adam, 
she brought forth her first-born. Never 
was there a more desolate mother. She 
had not even a manger, and the angels who 
fled affrighted when she sinned, came no 
more to cheer her solitude with their song of 
thanksgiving. She could pillow her aching 
head on the breast of Adam, but it brought 
only bitter recollections of brighter days. 
With maternal interest she might rejoice 
over the unconscious heir of frailty and suf¬ 
fering ; but “ what will be his destiny now 
we are fallen T was a question that could 


EVE. 


21 


not fail to oppress her loving heart. It 
would seem that Abel was a twin brother. 
Whether this were so or not, his name 
indicates that he was a weaker child and 
less tenderly loved. Eve centerd her 
hopes in regard to the Redeemer and the 
honor of her family in Cain. How much 
this fact affected his character and cher¬ 
ished that haughty spirit which at length 
made him a fratricide, we cannot tell. 

He may have apprehended something sig¬ 
nificant in the sacrifices, pointing to his own 
death as a type of the Great Sufferer. A 
dark thought had taken possession of his 
mind, and in sullen mood he set aside the 
authority of parental example in his offer¬ 
ing to the Lord. Jehovah frowned upon 
him, while the smoke of his oblation as¬ 
cended ; but flooded with the smile of his 
approval the altar and the brow of Abel. 

In the conversation which followed, Cain 
2 * 


22 


EVE. 


became enraged, and smote his unoffending 
brother. When he saw the warm blood 
flowing from the wounds of his dying vic¬ 
tim, and met the reproach of his fading eye, 
conscience with its terrors was let loose 
upon him, and branded by the wrath of 
God he fled a fugitive from the face of his 
kindred. 

Adam in his customary walks, or led 
forth by the long absence of his sons into 
the fields, came suddenly upon the bloody 
corpse of Abel. He beheld the marks of 
violence, but the companion of the slain 
was gone; and while he knew that death 
had entered his family, it was murder too 
—the fearful harvest sown by parental 
transgression. It opened the ravages of 
crime, which were to make the green earth 
one wide field of battle. When the shock 
was over, and he recovered from his delir¬ 
ium of anguish, he bore the tidings to Eve. 


EYE. 


23 


Whether she was partially prepared for the 
bolt by his despairing face and incoherent 
expressions, or he rushed in the excess of 
his grief into her presence, with the shriek, 
u Abel is dead!” is left to conjecture. When 
the terrible fact was known, her heart sunk 
beneath the blow; for to the depth of a 
mothers sorrow was added the bitterness 
of self-reproach. 

And that first funeral was a gloomy one 
—the uncoffined form was carried without 
a knell to its burial, and the shadow of a 
grave darkened a ruined world. Nor since 
has there been a sadder home or wilder lam¬ 
entation, than that of the bereaved patriarch 
and his bewailing wife. The years melted 
aw~ay, and Eve was again a mother. 

To her, evidently, was conceded the right 
of naming her offspring. This third son 
she called Seth, or the appointed , because 
God had given her another to fill the place 


24 


EVE. 


of the departed. How beautifully this in¬ 
cident shows the maternal affection and 
trusting spirit of Eve! Her weary heart 
had a new object upon which to pour its 
wealth of love, and she recognized the hand 
of her injured Father in the bestowment of 
a blessing, which was to link her destiny 
with the advent of the promised Christ. 

She lived to be the centre of a large do¬ 
mestic circle, and to behold the multiplying 
hundreds of a sinful and a suffering race. 
Bowed with the weight of years, and an 
experience full of the most varied and stir¬ 
ring events, she reached the limit of life. 
Oh ! with what emotion she contemplated 
the past, while looking down into the gulf 
of dissolution. Around her lay the wreck 
of a planet which filled the universe with 
melody, when it rolled from the forming 
hand of God, and which in its moral destiny 
had there been no interposition of grace, 


EVE. 


25 


would have drifted forever from its orbit 
around His Throne. Her children and 
friends gathered about her dying couch, to 
hear her last accents and receive her bles¬ 
sing. Adam, leaning upon his staff, stood 
by her pillow and bedewed her pale fore¬ 
head with his tears, breathing in her ear 
comforting words concerning the mercy of 
the Lord. 

In the struggles of that hour, Eve could 
lean alone upon the promise of a Messiah 
to come—the only ray penetrating the dark 
valley was that dim revelation of a Savior 
who would be the “ resurrection and the 
life.” She cast a mournful glance upon 
those she had loved and ruined, murmured 
a farewell, looked upward with a smile of 
victory, and the conflict was over —the 
mother of mankind was no more. 

The tidings spread, and from the scat¬ 
tered dwellings of her descendants was 


26 


EVE. 


heard the voice of weeping—for Eve had 
been loved for her affectionate fidelity to 
Adam, and her tender solicitude for the 
happiness of all. Beside she retained traces 
of her primeval beauty, and subdued by 
penitence, she lived among them a model 
of matronly dignity, meekness and piety. 
Her solemn counsels and many prayers 
were remembered, and her frailty in the 
ruinous experiment of disobedience, was 
well nigh forgotten in the grief of an orphan 
race. In silence, except the sobs of unaf¬ 
fected mourning, she was borne to her grave 
beside that of the martyred Abel. 

Though no epitaph was written, as of¬ 
ten as the eye of the passer-by fell upon 
that mound, or the foliage waving over it, 
he read the language of those words writ¬ 
ten in burning capitals over the gateway 
of dispair—“ In the day that thou eatest 
thereof, thou shalt surely die.” 



Sarai was a Hebrew maiden of remark¬ 
able beauty. Her childhood and youth 
were passed among the mountains of Ar¬ 
menia, whose fine climate and sublime sce¬ 
nery developed her form and gave strength 
to her intellectual powers. Her noble fig¬ 
ure, dark eye luminous with expression, 
and the graceful dignity of her manner, 
made her the admiration of the Chaldean 
shepherds and the pride of her kindred. 




28 


SARAH. 


Among the wealthy monads of the fruit¬ 
ful valleys who sought her hand in marriage, 
was Abram, a kinsman. A worshipper of 
the Infinite One, he loved her for her ele¬ 
vated piety, no less than for her personal 
beauty. And doubtless they often walked 
forth together beneath the nightly sky, 
whose transparent air in that latitude made 
the stars impressively— 

“ The burning blazonry of God !” 

Upon the hill-tops around, were the ob¬ 
servatories and altars of Chaldean philoso¬ 
phy, whose disciples worshipped the host 
of Heaven. In the serenity of such an hour, 
with the white tents reposing in the dis¬ 
tance, and the “ soul-like sound ” of the 
rustling forest alone breaking the stillness, 
it would not be strange as they gazed on 
flaming Orion and the Pleiades if they had 
bowed with the Devotee of Light, while 


SARAH. 


29 


“ Beneath his blue and beaming sky, 

He worshipped at their lofty shrine 
And deemed he saw with gifted eye, 

The Godhead in his works divine.” 

But a purer illumination than streamed 
from that radiant dome, brought near in 
his ineffable majesty the Eternal, and like 
the holy worshippers of Eden, they adored 
with subdued and reverent hearts, their in¬ 
finite Father. 

To a reflective mind, there is great sub¬ 
limity and impressiveness in the purity 
and growth of religious principle, in cir¬ 
cumstances so adverse to its manifesta¬ 
tion. The temptations resisted—the ear¬ 
nest communion with each other—the glo¬ 
rious aspirations and soarings of imagina¬ 
tion, when morning broke upon the girdling 
summits, and when evening came down 
with its stars, and its rising moon, flooding 
with glory nature in her repose; these and 
a thousand lovely and touching scenes of 


30 


SAKAH. 


that pastoral life are all unrecorded. The 
great events in history, and bold points in 
character, are seized by the inspired pen¬ 
man as sufficient to sweep the grand out¬ 
line of God’s providential and moral gov¬ 
ernment over the world, and his care of his 
people. 

Just when it would best accomplish his 
designs, which are ever marching like des¬ 
tiny to their fulfilment, Jehovah called to 
Abram, and bade him go to a distant land 
which he would show him. With his 
father-in-law and with Lot, his flocks and 
herds, he journeyed toward Palestine.— 
When he arrived at Harran, in Mesopota¬ 
mia, pleased with the country, and probably 
influenced by the declining health of the 
aged Terah, he took up his residence there. 
Here he remained till the venerable patri¬ 
arch, Sarai’s father, died. The circle of 
relatives bore him to the grave, and kept 


SARAH. 


31 


the days of mourning. But the dutiful 
daughter wept in the solitary grief of an or¬ 
phan’s heart. A few years before, she- had 
lost a brother, and now the father to whom 
she was the last flower that bloomed on 
the desert of age, and who lavished his love 
upon her, was buried among strangers. 

Then the command to move forward to 
his promised inheritance came again to 
Abram. Sarai shed upon that lonely grave 
the baptism of her tears, and turned away 
in the sad beauty of mourning to fold her 
tent and enter the shadows of an untravelled 
wilderness. They journeyed on among the 
hills, encamping at night beside a mountain 
spring, and beneath the unclouded heavens 
arching their path, changeless and watchful 
as the love of God—exiles by the power of 
their simple faith in him. Soon as they 
reached Palestine, Abram consecrated its 
very soil by erecting a family altar, first in 


32 


SARAH. 


the plain of Moreh, and again on the sum¬ 
mits that catch the smile of morning near 
the hamlet of Bethel. 

Months stepped away rapidly as silently,- 
old associations wore off, and Abram was 
a wealthy and happy man in the luxuriant 
vales of Canaan. His flocks dotted the 
plains, and his cattle sent down their low¬ 
ing from encircling hills. But more than 
these to him was the affection of his beau¬ 
tiful wife. Her eye watched his form along 
the winding way, when with the ascending 
sun he went out on the dewy slopes; and 
kindled with a serene welcome when at 
night-fall he returned for repose amid the 
sacred joys of home. 

At length there came on a fearful famine. 
The rain was withholden, and the dew 
shed its benediction no more upon the earth. 
He was compelled to seek bread at the 
court of Pharaoh, or perish. Knowing the 


SARAH. 


33 


power of female beauty, and the want of 
principle among the Egyptian princes, he 
feared assassination and the captivity of 
Sarai which would follow. Haunted with 
this apprehension, he told her to affirm 
upon inquiry that she was his sister— 
which was not a direct falsehood, but only 
so by implication. According to the Jew¬ 
ish mode of reckoning she might be called 
a sister, and Abram stooped to this pre¬ 
varication under that terrible excitement, 
which in the case of Peter, drove a true 
disciple of Christ to the brink of apostacy 
and despair. 

But his deception involved him in the 
very difficulty he designed to escape. The 
king’s courtiers saw the handsome Hebrew, 
and extolled her beauty before him. He 
summoned her to the apartments of the 
palace, and captivated by her loveliness, 
determined to make her his bride. During 


34 


SARAH. 


the agonizing suspense of Abram, and the 
concealed anguish of Sarai in her conscious 
degradation, the hours wore heavily away, 
until the judgments of God upon the royal 
household brought deliverance. Pharaoh, 
though an idolator, knew by this supernat¬ 
ural infliction, that there was guilt in the 
transaction, and called Abram to an ac¬ 
count. He had nothing to say in self-acquit¬ 
tal, and with a strange magnanimity, was 
sent away with his wife and his property 
quietly; followed only by the reproaches of 
Pharaoh, and his own wakeful conscience. 

Abram returned to Palestine, became a 
victor in fierce battles with a vastly out¬ 
numbering foe, and was in possession of a 
splendid fortune. Yet Sarai was unhappy 
because she was childless. She had the 
Lord’s promise that a son should beguile 
the hours of declining life, but the years 
fled, and there was no token of fulfilment. 


SARAH. 


35 


In her disappointment and impatience she 
told her husband it was folly to hope on, 
and pointed to Hagar a servant, as the mo¬ 
ther of the expected heir. By following 
his suggestion in Egypt she went to the 
verge of ruin, and now in turn is the temp¬ 
ter, involving her family in guilt and dis¬ 
cord that almost broke the heart of Abram. 
When the slave was likely to bear a son, 
her vanity was excited, and she treated 
Sarai with scorn that roused her indigna¬ 
tion. Hagar was banished and became a 
friendless fugitive in the wilderness—where 
the angel of God found her weary and faint¬ 
ing, led her to a gushing spring, and there 
bade her go back submissively to her mis¬ 
tress. 

Soon after Jehovah appeared to Abram 
in a glorious vision, talking with him as 
friend to friend. He fell on his face in the 
dust, as did the exile of Patinos ages after, 


36 


SARAH. 


while a voice of affection and hope, came 
from the bending sky—“ I am the Almighty 
God; walk before me and be thou perfect.” 
The solemn covenant involving the great¬ 
ness and splendor of the people and com¬ 
monwealth that should spring from the soli¬ 
tary pair, was renewed ; and as an outward 
seal, he was named Abraham, The father of 
a great multitude —and his wife Sarah, The 
'princess. Still he laughed at the absurdity 
that Sarah would ever be a mother, and in¬ 
voked a blessing on Ishmael, but evidently 
said nothing to her upon a subject dismissed 
as incredible from his thoughts. For when 
the celestial messengers were in the tent 
on their way to warn Lot, she listened lo 
their earnest conversation, concealed by the 
curtains, and hearing that repeated prom¬ 
ise based on the immutability of God, also 
laughed with bitter mirth, at her hopeless 
prospect in regard to the marvelous pre- 


SARAH. 


37 


diction. And when one of the Angels, who 
was Jehovah veiled in human form, as af¬ 
terwards “ manifest in the flesh,” charged 
her with this unbelief and levity, the dis¬ 
covery roused her fears, and approaching 
him, without hesitation, she denied the fact. 
He knew perfectly her sudden apprehen¬ 
sion, and only repeated the accusation, en¬ 
forced doubtless by a glance of omniscience, 
like that which pierced the heart of Peter. 

The group separated, and two of those 
bright beings went on to Sodom. The 
next morning Abraham walked out upon 
the plain, and looked toward the home of 
Lot. He saw the smoke as of a great fur¬ 
nace going up to the calm azure, from the 
scathed and blackened plains where life was 
so busy and joyous a few hours before! 
With a heavy heart he returned to his tent, 
and brought Sarah forth to behold the scene. 
She clung with trembling to his side, while 


38 


SARAH. 


she listened to the narration of the terrible 
overthrow of those gorgeous cities, and the 
rescue of her brother’s household, and be¬ 
held in the distance the seething and silent 
grave of millions, sending up a swaying col¬ 
umn of ebon cloud, like incense to God’s 
burning indignation against sin. 

They left the vale of Mamre, and jour¬ 
neyed to Gera, where, with a marvelous 
forgetfulness of the past, the beauty of Sa¬ 
rah again led them into deception and false¬ 
hood, and with the same result as before. 
Abimelech, the king, would have taken her 
for his wife as Abraham’s sister, had not 
God appeared in a dream threatening im¬ 
mediate death. Upon pleading his inno¬ 
cence he was spared, and expostulating 
with his guest, generously offered him a 
choice of residence in the land; but rebuked 
Sarah with merited severity. 

Prophecy and covenant now hastened to 


SARAH. 


39 


their fulfilment. Sarah gave birth to a son, 
and with the name of God on her lips, she 
gave utterance to holy rapture. With all 
her faults, she was a pious and noble wo¬ 
man. She meant to train him for the Lord, 
and therefore when she saw young Ishmael 
mocking at the festival of his weaning, she 
besought her husband to send away the 
irreverent son, whose influence might ruin 
the consecrated Isaac. Hagar, with a gen¬ 
erous provision for her wants, was once 
more a fugitive; and the Most High ap¬ 
proved the solicitude of a mother for an 
only child, around whose destiny was gath¬ 
ered the interest of ages, and the hopes of 
a world. 

And now, with the solemn shadows of 
life’s evening hours falling around her, and 
a heart subdued by the discipline of Provi¬ 
dence, in the fullness of love which had 
been rising so long within the barriers of 


40 


SARAH. 


hope deferred, she bent prayerfully over the 
very slumbers of that fair boy, and taught 
him the precious name of God, with the 
first prattle of his infantpips. How proud¬ 
ly she watched the unfolding of this bud of 
promise. When in the pastimes of child¬ 
hood he played before the tent-door, or with 
a shout of gladness ran to meet Abraham 
returning from the folds, her calm and glow¬ 
ing eye marked his footsteps, and her grate¬ 
ful aspirations for a blessing on the lad 
went up to the Heaven of heavens. At 
length he stood before her in the manliness 
and beauty of youth unscarred by the rage 
of passions, and with a brow open and 
laughing as the radiant sky of his own 
lovely Palestine. 

It was a morning which flooded the dewy 
plains with glory, and filled the groves with 
music, when Abraham came in from his 
wonted communion with God, and called 


SARAH. 


41 


for Isaac, and told him to prepare for a 
three days’ journey into the wilderness. 
How tenderly was Sarah regarded in this 
scene of trial. Evidently no information 
of the awful command to sacrifice the son 
of her old age, was made to her. She 
might have read something fearful in the 
lines of anxious thought and the workings 
of deep emotion in the face of Abraham. 
But he evaded all inquiries on the subject, 
“ clave the wood,” and accompanied by two 
of his young men, turned from his dwelling 
with a blessing from that wondering mother, 
and was soon lost from her straining vision 
among the distant hills. Upon the third 
day he saw the top of Mount Moriah kind¬ 
ling in the rising sun, and taking Isaac 
alone, ascended to the summit, whereon 
was to be reared an altar, which awakened 
more intense solicitude in heaven, than any 
offering before or since, except on Calvary, 


42 


SARAH. 


where God’s “ only begotten and well-be¬ 
loved son ” was slain. There is no higher 
moral sublimity, than the unwavering trust 
and cheerful obedience of this patriarch, 
when the very oath of the Almighty seemed 
perjured, and the bow of promise blotted 
from the firmament of faith ! But he be¬ 
lieved Jehovah, and would have clung to 
his assurance, though the earth had reeled 
in her orbit, and every star drifted from 
its moorings. He prayed for strength, with 
his hand on the forehead of his submissive 
son. 

“ He rose up and laid 
The wood upon the altar. All was done, 

He stood a moment—and a deep, quick flush 
Passed o’er his countenance; and then he nerved 
His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke— 

“ Isaac! my only son”—The boy looked up. 

And Abraham turned his face away and wept. 

“ Where is the lamb, my father ? ”—0, the tones, 

The sweet, the thrilling music of a child ! 

How it doth agonize at such an hour! 

It was the last, deep struggle—Abraham held 
His loved, his beautiful, his only son, 


SARAH. 


43 


And lifted up his arm, and called on God— 

And lo! God’s Angel staid him—and he fell 
Upon his face and wept.” 

When on his return he told Sarah of his 
strange mission, and how the Lord stayed 
his uplifted hand when the struggle had 
passed, with deeper yearnings of the ma¬ 
ternal heart she clasped Isaac to her bosom, 
and mingled with his own, her tears of joy. 
She did not long survive this last test of 
fidelity, itself the crowning evidence that 
she was the mother whose posterity would 
out-number the stars. At Kirjath-arba, in 
the vale of Hebron, during the absence of 
Abraham, Sarah died. When he heard of 
her death, he hastened to her burial, “ to 
mourn and to weep for her.” There is no 
more affecting funeral scene in history. 
Bending over the corpse of his beautiful 
and devoted wife, he looked upon the 
strangers about him, and while his hoary 


44 


SARAH. 


locks shook with the excitement of grief, 
he sobbed aloud, 11 1 am a stranger and a 
sojourner with you ; give me a possession 
of a burying place with you, that I may 
bury my dead out of my sight.” 

He bought the field of Machpelah, and in 
a cave, which seemed to have been formed 
for a sepulchre, beneath the shade of forest 
trees, he laid the form he loved when a 
beauteous maiden, the noblest of wiVes, 
and a faithful, praying mother. With Isaac 
weeping at his side, he turned away to en¬ 
force on his tender spirit her holy counsels, 
and wait further upon the providence of 
God toward the youth ; upon whom must 
fall the patriarchal mantle, and who was to 
guard and transmit the knowledge and wor¬ 
ship of Jehovah. 



It was sunset on the Plains of Mesopo¬ 
tamia. Around them stood the mountains, 
with their brows bathed in the glow of an 
oriental day, as it dropped gloriously behind 
them. Far down their darkening sides, the 
flocks were gathering to their folds, and 
with a softened murmur the echoes went 
up from the distant city in the vale of Har- 
ran, towards whose gates from the inter¬ 
locking hills of the south, wound slowly a 
3 * 



46 


REBEKAH. 


strange cavalcade. The camels were la¬ 
den richly, and walked wearily, for they had 
traveled from Palestine, which was more 
than four hundred miles from^Harran. 
They were led by an aged man of patriar¬ 
chal air, whose calm face revealed both a 
thoughtful mind, and the dignity of good¬ 
ness ; while his flowing beard fell upon his 
breast white as a wreath of snow. He 
was the faithful steward of Abraham, and 
with an oath of fidelity in his mission, jour¬ 
neyed to the land of Nahor to choose a bride 
for Isaac, worthy of the honor, and educa¬ 
ted in the religion of his father. The shad¬ 
ows of twilight were deepening upon the 
landscape, when he passed beside a well in 
the suburbs of the city, and gazed upon its 
walls with the intense emotion which agi¬ 
tates the heart, when the conflict between 
hope and fear is drawing to a final issue. 
And besides his contemplations of the Invis- 


REBEKAH. 


47 


ible, he had but one thought during all his 
days of lonely travel, and his nights of wake¬ 
fulness beneath the beaming sky above his 
roofless head: “ where shall I find the mai¬ 
den my master will approve, and his only 
son receive to his home, as the second prin¬ 
cess in their illustrious line ?” It was the 
time of evening when the women came out 
to draw water, and he determined to make 
the occasion decisive, under the direction of 
God. 

He made the camels kneel about him, 
and bowing himself in prayer, he besought 
the Lord “ to give him speed ” in the mat¬ 
ter for Abraham, his servant’s sake. It was 
no formal prayer he breathed upon the 
quiet air, which scarcely lifted the hoary 
locks from his anxious brow. It was no 
wavering faith that cast all the care of 
his troubled spirit on Jehovah, desiring the 
sign of his approval in a simple expression 


48 


REBEKAH. 


of Eastern hospitality. And while he was 
communing with God, Rebekah the daugh¬ 
ter of Bethuel, came out bearing her pitch¬ 
er ; and “ the damsel was very fair to look 
upon” Her singular beauty arrested the 
eye of Eliezer. He watched her while she 
ran to the fountain, so airily, 

“ The light spring-flower would scarcely bow 
Beneath her step,”— 

and stooped to the waters, like a white 
swan bending to the glassy wave. Then 
lifting the pitcher to her shoulder, upon 
which the raven ringlets fell waivingly from 
her fair forehead, she stood before him in 
the fading light, the impersonation of virgin 
loveliness. She did not see the charmed 
Eliezer, and hastened nymph-like along her 
star-lit path, towards the city gate. Start¬ 
ing as from a dream, he ran forward to meet 
her, and asked permission to drink of the 
water. She immediately dropped the pitch- 


REBEKAH. 


49 


er upon her hand and said, “ drink my lord.” 
Just then she observed the panting camels, 
and with the same disinterested kindness, 
and voice which was the very music of 
love, offered to draw water “ for them also, 
until they had done drinking.” He was so 
absorbed by a solemn interest of which she 
knew nothing, that “ he held his peace,” 
without even rendering aid to Rebekah; 
but mutely admiring her faultless person, 
and generous deed, he wondered if that 
beautiful being teas the object of his toil¬ 
some pilgrimage. She had given the sign 
unconsciously, of his own choosing, and the 
fact gradually spread hopeful tranquility 
over his bewildered thought. He gave her 
an ear-ring of pure gold, and a pair of cost¬ 
ly bracelets, enquiring after her father’s 
house, and if he could have entertainment 
there for the night. The maiden modestly 
told her lineage, assuring him both of a kind 


50 


REBEKAH. 


reception and abundant provision for his 
animals. When he knew it was the fam¬ 
ily of Nahor 7 the pious and shrewd old man 
doubted no more, but recognized the hand 
of the Lord. He bowed in grateful adora¬ 
tion on the dewy earth, amid the stillness 
of nature reposing upon the bosom of God, 
and poured forth from a full heart his 
thanksgiving. Rebekah ran to her mother, 
told her what had happened, and the mys¬ 
terious words the man had spoken. This 
simple incident is a sweet glimpse at the 
amiable and filial character of Milcah’s 
daughter. 

While they were talking over the mar¬ 
velous occurrence, Laban, a brother, went 
out to see who the wealthy stranger might 
be, and learn his design in visiting their 
beautiful city. Doubtless he was more in¬ 
terested in the shekels of gold than the 
devotional expressions his sister repeated. 


REBEKAH. 


51 


But when he found him at the well, in the 
apparent disinterestedness of a true patri¬ 
arch, with a benediction, he bade him come 
to his dwelling, for every preparation was 
made for his accommodation. Soon the 
girdle and sandals were removed, and he 
was invited to partake of the evening re¬ 
past. And now appears the tact , eloquence, 
and religious principle of this servant, which 
were evidently the ground of Abraham’s 
confidence in his management, in the dis¬ 
course and special pleading before the 
household of his guest. 

With solemnity becoming his responsi¬ 
bility, he refused to eat till he had made 
known his errand. He then introduces 
himself as the servant of Abraham, who by 
the blessing of God, he adds, “ is become 
great.” After describing the magnitude of 
his vast possessions, he makes a graceful 
transition to Isaac, the sole heir of this fame 


52 


REBEKAH. 


and splendid inheritance. He gives the 
reason for his long journey in search of a 
bride, the irreligious character of the Ca- 
naanites, narrating the conversation with 
his master, and the hesitation he felt in en¬ 
tering upon the delicate undertaking. The 
entire scene at the well is minutely deline¬ 
ated, to convince them that the Almighty 
had sanctioned the transaction, and be¬ 
stowed unequivocal signs of his approbation 
of the choice. Without doubt, he marked 
the impression his address made on the 
listening group, and was not afraid to throw 
the entire matter upon their decision. He 
had completely won the father and broth¬ 
er to his purpose, and they referred the 
whole question to Rebekah. There was a 
struggle in the mother’s bosom, and Rebekah 
hung upon her neck in tears. Eliezer evi¬ 
dently regarded the matter as settled, and 
distributed with princely liberality his mag- 


REBEKAH. 


53 


nificent presents among the members of the 
family. 

At a late hour they retired for repose, 
but how little slumber in that dwelling. 
The successful servant may have fallen into 
pleasant dreams, Bethuel and Laban proud 
of the prospective alliance, may have slept, 
thronged with golden visions ; but the heart 
of the maiden nev^r beat so wildly before, 
and life assumed a strange reality, to her 
musing and restless spirit. The mother 
was sorrowful and prayerful, for an only 
daughter was the sacrifice demanded, and 
sending her to Canaan, was like burying 
her from sight forever. 

In the morning came the final trial— 
when God’s eternal purposes were borne 
onward by the unostentatious incidents of 
a touching domestic scene. And who can 
tell the influence, though unseen, the his¬ 
tory of any family upon the destinies of a 


54 


REBEKAH. 


succeeding generation ! Eliezer signified 
the necessity of his immediate departure. 
Milcah and Laban besought him to tarry 
a few days, for they could not part thus 
suddenly with the damsel. But there were 
mightier interests than those of time at stake, 
and he was firm in his purpose. Rebekah 
was called, and asked if she w r ere willing to 
go immediately with the man. She was 
prepared by a higher communion than that 
with kindred, and the heroism of cheerful 
piety, to answer unhesitatingly, 11 Twill go” 
When the circumstances are considered, 
there is here a moral sublimity, pure and 
impressive, as that which hung around the 
first female who abandoned the land of her 
birth and the friendships of home, for the 
wide ocean, and a grave on plains overshad¬ 
owed by the temples of idol-worship. 

With blessings upon her head, and tear¬ 
ful adieus, in her queenly womanhood, the 


REBEKAH. 


55 


more beautiful for her sadness, she mounted 
the kneeling camel, and accompanied by the 
nurse of her infancy, and the retinue that 
came to escort her, moved silently from 
the city of her fathers. And how often 
with swimming eye, she turned to gaze on 
the receding valley, upon whose peaceful 
breast, like a white speck, lay the beloved 
city. But a new world soon spread around 
the fair traveler. Sometimes wild sum¬ 
mits cast their shadows upon her way; 
then from a hill-top she looked off upon 
luxuriant plains, with their isles of foliage 
dallying with the passing wind, and an 
horizon of mountains penciled on the haze 
of the dreamy sky. And there were hours 
when her thoughts wandered from all these, 
and brooded with painful intensity upon her 
unfolding destiny. 

It was eventide of such a day as dawns 
on Palestine, when Rebekah saw in the 


56 


REBEKAH. 


distance, a man in meditative mood, walk¬ 
ing in the fields. With that presentiment 
which seems often almost prophetic when 
near an expected event, and probably aided 
by the indication of devotional spirit, she 
suspected him to be Isaac, and alighted from 
her camel. Eliezer confirmed her suspi¬ 
cions, and veiling herself, she modestly 
awaited his approach. He was a stranger 
and might not fall in with her guide’s admi¬ 
ration—or there might be something in him 
repulsive to her own taste. 

While these conflicting emotions were 
passing, Eliezer had informed Isaac of his 
travels, the interview with Rebekah at the 
well, the objections he overruled in obtain¬ 
ing consent of her relatives, and the sad 
farewells that still haunted his memory. 
Isaac felt that the Almighty, whose voice 
he heard when on the altar of Moriah, had 
brought him a wife, he could love for her 


HEBEKAH, 


57 


own sake, and he took her joyfully to his 
tent. It was the very place where Sarah 
died, and he had mourned deeply for his 
sainted mother. Rebekah came to his soli¬ 
tude, like an angel of consolation, and his 
pensive home was lighted with a smile of 
returning hope. Time passed on, and with 
all his riches, there were hours of sadness 
in that home, because no children were 
given him. He prayed earnestly for the 
covenant blessing, and Rebekah bore him 
twins, who were named Esau and Jacob— 
the beginning of sorrows to her, and of 
suffering to them all, till they slept in death. 
The sons grew to manhood—Esau the 
inheritor of the birthright, was a sports¬ 
man, and a passionate man, but the favorite 
of Isaac because he gratified his father’s 
'penchant for venison ; Jacob a quiet shep¬ 
herd, became the idol of his mother. A 
parental partiality, which resulted at length 


58 


REBEKAH. 


in the overthrow of Esau, while his brother 
rose upon his ruin. 

Driven by famine like Abraham before 
him, to seek bread at a foreign court, the 
patriarch went to Gerar. Apprehensive 
of assassination on account of Rebekah’s 
beauty, he also was guilty of the cowardly 
act of dissembling, in which she was ac¬ 
cessory. She told the admiring princes 
that Isaac was a brother. Abimelech the 
king discovered the deception accidentally, 
and bitterly reproved the stranger. It is 
somewhat remarkable, that the grand trio 
of primal patriarchs, married handsome 
women; who notwithstanding their exalted 
character and fidelity, cost two of them 
days of gloomy fear, and crime that left 
ever after burning on the conscience, the 
living coals of remorse. 

Isaac now reached his dotage; feeble and 
blind, he knew death was near. He called 


REBEKAH. 


59 


Esau, and told him as he might die sud¬ 
denly, to get him venison and prepare for the 
solemn occasion of receiving his parting bles¬ 
sing, which should secure the privileges and 
pre-eminence of the first-born. The hunter 
went into the fields; and Rebekah, recol¬ 
lecting that Isaac had purchased the birth¬ 
right of his brother for a mess of pottage, 
one day when he came in from the chase 
faint with hunger and exhaustion, deter¬ 
mined by a stroke of management to seal 
with the patriarchal benediction, that trans¬ 
fer of the unappreciated distinction by Esau, 
who was disinclined manifestly, to a reli¬ 
gious life. 

She sent him to the flocks after two kids, 
which w T ere prepared with the savory deli¬ 
cacy his father loved, and assuming the 
responsibility of any anathama that might 
follow, she dressed him up in Esau's ap- 
paral, covering his hands and neck to imi- 


60 


REBEKAH. 


tate the hairiness of the rightful heir, and 
sent him to the bed-side of the dying Isaac. 
When the patriarch enquired who he was, 
he replied, “ I am Esau, thy first born.” 
This was passing belief, because even the 
skillful hunter, could scarcely without a 
miracle so soon bring in the game, and 
dress it for his table. Jacob was called to 
his side, and he felt of his hands; the dis¬ 
guise completed the delusion, although his 
voice had the milder tone of the young 
shepherd, to that father’s ear. He repeated 
the interrogation concerning his name, then 
embracing him, pronounced in a strain of 
true poetry, the perpetual blessing of Jeho¬ 
vah’s favor upon his undertakings, and his 
posterity. The stratagem had succeeded, 
and Jacob hastened to inform his mother of 
the victory, just as Esau returned. When 
Isaac discovered the mistake, he trembled 
with excitement, while his son cried in an- 


REBEKAH. 


61 


guish, “ Bless even me also, O my father!” 
That cry pierced the breaking heart of the 
aged man, but it was a fruitless lament. 
He was inflexible, and Esau wept aloud 
over his blasted hopes; plotting at the 
same time in his awakened enmity, the 
murder of Jacob. Rebekah was alarmed 
at his fury, and sent 11 the supplanter,” to 
her kindred in Haran of Mesopotamia. 

Her tent was now a spot of deepening 
gloom ; there were hours of mournful medi¬ 
tation in the apartment of approaching dis¬ 
solution, and of weeping in the solitude of 
the noble yet erring mother. Though 
strangely fallen from her youthful purity, 
she exhibited decided religious principle in 
her grief, when Esau to obtain revenge for 
her neglect of his boyhood, married an idol¬ 
ater. Accumulating troubles, made her 
weary of life, but where or when she died, 
the sacred historian has not given the slight- 


62 


HEBEKAH. 


est intimation. There is something signifi¬ 
cant in the fact, which justifies the inference, 
that her departure was a dreary one—cheer¬ 
ed only by penitential trust in the Lord. It 
may be that she was glad to leave a path¬ 
way on which the morning of her existence 
shed a heavenly radiance, but strewed with 
the sere leaves of blighted innocence and 
hope, met the grave o’erclouded with sor¬ 
row, and wet with tears. 

As a maiden, Rebekah was a model, an 
acknowledged beauty, and amiable in all 
the relations of life. She was a devoted 
wife, and only when corrupted by favorite- 
ism towards Jacob, and the example of 
Isaac in falsehood, did her character as a 
mother pass under eclipse. The crowning 
act of her guilty fondness and ambition, 
was presumption. Because God had made 
known his purpose to reverse the rule of 
primogeniture in her family, she determined 


REBEKAH. 


63 


in her own way to carry out the design. 
This one object took possession of her mind, 
until like a kind of madness, it urged her 
onward to crimes that made existence a 
burden, and which invested with a pain¬ 
ful uncertainty her abode in the world to 


come. 









% 





































A century after the matrimonial embas¬ 
sy from Palestine halted at night-fall before 
the city of Nahor, a solitary fugitive soon 
after noon of a sultry day, dusty and worn 
with travel, joined a group of shepherds, 
who waited with their flocks beside a well 
in the same valley of Haran. He fled from 
an angry brother, and had wandered for 
weeks among the hills, cheered at night 
while reposing on the ground, with the 



66 


RACHEL. 


glories of Heaven whose gates were thrown 
wide open above him. The angels upon a 
stair-way of light, came in throngs from the 
celestial plains, fanning his throbbing brow 
with their wings, and chasing from his spirit 
sad thoughts with the ravishing melody 
of their sinless abode. On a throne such 
as was never piled for human sovereignty, 
he beheld the Almighty enrobed with splen¬ 
dors that put out the stars, and heard the 
accents of sympathy and promise from his 
lips. 

Thus sustained in his banishment, and 
bound by an oath made at the bed-side of 
his dying father, to marry among his kin¬ 
dred of Mesopotamia, Jacob rested, a 
friendless exile, by the fountain where the 
camels of the servant Eliezer knelt laden 
with precious gifts. It was a strange con¬ 
trast in life, especially when equal honor 
was the inheritance. The lesson taught 


RACHEL. 


67 


then, as now, was the unerring providence 
of God amid the mutations of time, and the 
folly of desponding when a cloud blackens 
on the horizon of the future. 

The traveler enquired after the health of 
Laban. The Chaldeans answered his en¬ 
quiries, and pointing to a beautiful shep¬ 
herdess coming with her flock, told him 
there was Rachel his daughter. With that 
courtesy which springs from magnanimity 
of spirit and needs only the culture of op¬ 
portunity to develope itself, Jacob hastened 
to the well, rolled away the stone, and 
watered her sheep. The intelligence he 
had received, stirred the depths of his spirit, 
as the storm moves the sea, for in all his 
wanderings he met with no familiar face, 
nor heard one accent of affection. Saluting 
his fair cousin with a kiss, he lifted up his 
voice and wept. The recollections of home, 
the present joyful surprise, and visions of 


68 


RACHEL. 


the future, swept like a rushing tide over 
his sad heart. When the agitation subsided 
and he could command utterance, he dis¬ 
closed his relationship, by tenderly alluding 
to his mother, Laban’s only sister, with 
whom he parted while the bloom of girlhood 
was yet upon her cheek. Breathless with 
excitement and delight, she flew to her 
father with the tidings. He welcomed the 
young man to his dwelling, and invited him 
to become a resident in Haran, offering as 
an inducement to pay him his own price 
for labor. 

Jacob was smitten with Rachel’s beauty, 
and the sweetness of her temper, and imme¬ 
diately consented on condition that he might 
marry her as the reward of seven years’ toil. 
The days went by on rainbow wing, and 
the time of service vanished like a dream. 
When he came in at evening, her beaming 
eye was upon him—and often till “ the noon 


RACHEL. 


69 


of night ” the hours were passed in com¬ 
panionship unsullied by suspicion, while 
they talked of their love, the strange vicis¬ 
situdes of their kindred, and the bright 
displays of Jehovah’s regard. Jacob was a 
true-hearted and godly man. He once yield¬ 
ed to temptation presented by a mother , and 
was guilty of duplicity that cost him his 
self-respect, and made him despise her ; but 
ever after exhibited a lofty integrity both 
as a citizen and devout patriarch. 

At length he claimed his bride. The 
marriage festival was magnificent, and the 
exile of Canaan the central object of its gay 
assemblage. The evening waned, the lamps 
burned dimly, and music died away as with 
very weariness, when the parting salutations 
were exchanged around the wedded twain. 
But by an act of basest deception, Laban 
compelled Jacob to take Leah an older 

daughter for his wife, because customary to 
4 * 


70 


RACHEL. 


give the eldest first in marriage. So strong 
was his affection for Rachel, he suppressed 
his indignation and engaged to work another 
seven years for her. In condemning this 
unnatural polygamy, two things are to be 
considered ; the fraud of the father in with¬ 
holding the first choice, and the absence of 
any established principles of civil or relig¬ 
ious polity. There is a tendency in the mind 
to bring those ancient worthies for judg¬ 
ment, from the twilight of their dispensation 
to the foot of Sinai, and even to the Cross 
of Messiah, where we sit in the blaze of the 
gospel’s noontide, and learn the precepts of 
immaculate wisdom. 

Rachel though evidently less amiable 
than Leah, reigned in the affections of 
Jacob. When her envy and impatience 
because her sister bare sons and she was 
childless, found expression in reproach of 
her husband, and a wish to die if longer 


RACHEL. 


71 


unblest, his anger called forth but a mild 
rebuke. 

Twenty years passed by, and Jacob a 
wealthy patriarch, departed from Haran 
as he came, a fugitive from kindred. And 
as before in his flight, nightly repose brought 
visions of paradise, and the voice of God. 
He was overtaken by his pursuers, and 
accused among other things of stealing La¬ 
ban’s teraphim. From some unknown mo¬ 
tive, Rachel had carried away these house¬ 
hold gods, and dissembled, to conceal the 
fact. But the blemishes on her character, 
when the attention and flattery her beauty 
received are taken into the account, are 
faint and few. She was a splendid woman, 
beloved in all the relations of domestic and 
social life. 

At the Ford of Jabbok, when Jacob was 
about to encounter the embittered Esau 
with his host, he placed in the rear of his 


72 


RACHEL. 


own caravan, Rachel and the stripling Jo¬ 
seph, her youngest boy, to have them the 
least exposed if an attack were made.— 
How remote the thought, when she led the 
lad to the margin of the stream, that his 
infant hand would in after years, hold the 
key of a monarch’s treasury, wanting only 
a sceptre to be Sovereign of the proudest 
realm on earth, rescuing from famine Israel 
and his household, to prevent the failure of 
a single promise concerning the chosen of 
the Lord. 

Not far from Bethel, Rachel gave birth to 
another son—and her own life was the price 
of this last-born. Having escaped the rage 
of enemies, and the perils of a wearisome 
march, just entering into the very bosom of 
Canaan, Rachel must be laid in the grave. 
She was conscious of her hastening dissolu¬ 
tion, and murmured Benoni—the son of my 
sorrow. Then with a blessing, she bade 


RACHEL. 


73 


Jacob and her noble sons farewell, looked 
up trustingly to the sky bending brightly 
above her, and “ fell asleep.” Her last 
gaze was towards the hills around Bethle¬ 
hem, which were flooded with the light of 
the star in the East, and echoed back to the 
“ Mount of God ” the chorus of angels, when 
“ He who should redeem Israel” was cradled 
in a mafiger ! They buried her there, and 
Jacob erected a memorial of stone, which 
survived the lapse of centuries, and was 
cherished as the monument of beauty and 
worth by his descendants, till it crumbled 
to dust. 

We need no further illustration of her 
elevated character than those testimonials, 
or of her intellectual force and piety than the 
faultless and Kingly Joseph—the full-length 
portrait of a pure and brilliant man, which 
in the distance and dimness of antiquity, is 


74 


RACHEL. 


yet distinct and beautiful, beneath the ra¬ 
diance that falls from the Eternal city of the 
better Canaan, into which he entered. 



Destiny, in the history of an individual 
and a nation, often turns on apparently an 
unimportant event. We have in Revela¬ 
tion impressive illustrations of the truth; 
as if God, by poising his own stupendous 
plans on the common occurrences of life, 
would teach man his particular providence, 
and the solemnity of action on the stage of 
probation, where the very echo of his foot¬ 
steps will be heard forever. 


76 


MIRIAM. 


The fulfilment of prophecy, and the great¬ 
ness and glory of the Hebrew nation, were 
all involved in the preservation of a single 
man-child among thousands with whom it 
was doomed to a violent death. For three 
months parental love had eluded the edict 
of the tyrant who “ knew not Joseph,” till 
concealment was no longer an experiment 
of hope. The beautiful child was enclosed 
in a bark of rushes, and committed to the 
bosom of the Nile. Miriam, an only sis¬ 
ter, was sent to watch the frail vessel, 
while it floated down the lazy current, the 
plaything of every ripple, 

“And every breath of air that chanced to blow.” 

It was to avoid suspicion that Jochebed re¬ 
mained at home, to indulge a mother’s grief, 
and lift to Israel’s God a mother’s prayer. 
And Miriam, a summer day rambler among 
the flags by the river’s margin, or fragrant 


MIRIAM. 


77 


wild flowers beneath the branching palm, 
would not arrest the eye of the passing 
Egyptian. How strangely the bloom of 
girlhood upon her cheek contrasted with 
the tear-drops trembling on the long lashes, 
which almost veiled the glance following 
ever the boat of that young dreamer. An 
oriental sky bends brightly above her, and 
the waters sparkle as if in very gladness, 
around the boy— 

“ The whispering reeds are all he hears. 

The Nile’s soft weltering nigh 
Sings him to sleep j”— 

but her heart beats audibly, and dark 
thoughts of man and of life are chasing away 
a thousand glowing visions of the future. 

The day wore on, the sun bathed his 
burning forehead in the Mediterranean sea, 
and threw the glory of his farewell upon 
the hills that border on the fruitful valley, 
whose soil was wet with the blood of her 


78 


MIRIAM. 


countrymen. She heard the murmur of 
voices, and the sound of coming footsteps 
startling her from a mournful reverie. Pale 
with fear, she stood like the hunted fawn 
in his glade, panting before his pursuers. 
The little Levite, perhaps, was slumbering 
his last, and would be an evening sacrifice 
at the hand of the hastening executioner. 

When she saw the form of the king’s 
daughter followed by her maidens, hope 
stilled her fluttering heart. The princess 
might take her bath without observing the 
barge of bulrushes—if she did make the 
discovery, woman’s heart was moved by 
an infant’s smile, and touched by its cry. 

The tiny ark teas seen, and brought to 
the bank. The babe opened his blue eye 
on the wondering women and wept, for 
among them all no maternal arms were ex¬ 
tended in welcome, nor familiar voice fell 
on the ear of the Hebrew’s son. 


MIRIAM. 


79 


But he had won the royal sympathy ; 
Miriam knew he was safe, and asked per¬ 
mission to find a nurse. With joy that 
spoke in every lineament of her face, and 
the fleetness of her arrow-like step, she re¬ 
turned to the dwelling she left in sorrow, 
and Jochebed soon clasped the child to her 
heaving breast, naming him Moses —drawn 
from the water. Pharaoh’s daughter bade 
her train him for her father’s palace, and 
bring him there when he reached his boy¬ 
hood. 

Miriam rose to womanhood with a tone 
of masculine beauty, and Moses, a manly 
youth, took an honorable position in the 
court of Pharaoh. The influences of home 
were inwrought with all his sympathies, 
and he looked with deepest scorn upon a 
despot’s favor and a splendid career, while 
the groans of his oppressed people were 
filling the heavens. Possessing the traits 


80 


MIRIAM. 


of a hero in the highest degree, Jehovah by 
a visible manifestation appointed him chief¬ 
tain to strike for the deliverance of his 
nation. 

He stood with Aaron before the haughty 
monarch, cheered doubtless by the remem¬ 
bered words of Miriam who had felt the 
bitterness of oppression, and a mother’s 
blessing, and boldly announced the com¬ 
mand of God to let Israel go. Pharaoh 
poured contempt on the message and Him 
who sent it. Moses lifted up his rod, and 
the Nile on which he floated in helpless 
infancy, with every streamlet and pool, was 
turned into blood! But the king was un¬ 
moved when his fears were gone. Fire 
and hail descended in a tempest, and ran 
in torrents upon the blackening plains. 
Darkness deeper than broods on mornless 
chaos blotted out the stars, and quenched 
the flame of his brightest lamps—but not 


MIRIAM. 


81 


until the first-born of every Egyptian house¬ 
hold in his realm lay a stiffened corpse, as 
a fearful atonement for the innocents he had 
slain, did he consent to the departure of his 
God-protected slaves. 

They reached the sea, which spread its 
waste of billows between them and Ca¬ 
naan. Again the mysterious rod was 
raised over the waters, and they rolled up 
like mighty scrolls on each hand, and stood 
in walls of crystal beside their paved and 
ample path. The grand procession, with 
flying banners and silent march, wound 
like a vast Hydra through that parted deep. 
Just as Moses went up the opposing bank, 
Pharaoh’s pursuing host, with exultant 
shouts and the noise of numberless chariot 
wheels, poured into the gorge of uplifted 
waves. He stretched out the rod once 
more toward his foes, and with the crash of 
a thousand besieged and falling towers, the 


82 


MIRIAM. 


billowy mountains fell on that rushing ar¬ 
my. Banner and plume—the horse and his 
rider—weapons of war and shivered char¬ 
iots were mingled in a common wreck, and 
the requiem was the shrieks and curses of 
dying men, and the roar of foam-wreathed 
surges. The trembling multitudes of Is¬ 
rael from their peaceful shore looked mute¬ 
ly on, till that mournful cadence rose faint¬ 
ly on the troubled air. 

“ Then sang Moses and the children of 
Israel unto the Lord ” an anthem of un¬ 
equaled sublimity—and Miriam, inspired 
with prophetic fire, “ took a timbrel in her 
hand; and all the women went out after 
her, with timbrels and with dances.” She 
threw in a chorus worthy the theme and 
the occasion; the wilderness sent up echoes 
which never before stirred its solitude, and 
the notes of rapture floated in a tide of 
melody over the solemn sea, which was 


MIRIAM, 


83 


now the grave of an imperial army. That 
song and response were composed six hun¬ 
dred years before the immortal Grecian 
swept his wondrous harp in his blindness, 
and yet in grandeur that towers to the 
Throne of God, and power that thrills like 
a trumpet-blast, it leaves the wandering 
bard in the low grounds of mortal conflict, 
or on the sunny mount of contending gods. 

It is sad to turn from that jubilant pro¬ 
cession led on by the fair prophetess, to the 
scene of her fall. The Israelites reached 
the wilderness of Zin, and encamped on its 
extended plain. On each side stood the 
sentinel mountains, whose helmets of rock 
rent the folds of the summer cloud as it 
passed; the standards were unfurled, and 
the Tabernacle set up. Miriam had seen 
Moses robed in lightning on the smoking 
top of Sinai, and listened to the message 
from his lips when his brow shone like an 


84 


MIRIAM. 


angel’s—she had loved him as a part of her 
own being since her lonely vigil by the 
river’s side—but now ambition stalked 
through the chambers of her soul like a 
sceptered king, made the affections its vas¬ 
sals, and was environed by the train of 
riotous passions. Under the new arrange¬ 
ment adopted by Moses at the suggestion 
of Jethro, his father-in-law, the power w T as 
divided among captains, and her authority 
weakened. Besides, she had marked with 
jealousy the presence of Zipporah the Ethi¬ 
opian in the camp, receiving the attention 
of the great leader, and the admiration of 
the multitude. 

She went to Aaron, and “ spake against 
Moses.” He listened to the complaint, 
which was an appeal to his own wounded 
honor, and a conspiracy was matured. The 
Lawgiver was meek in his majesty, and 
unsullied by human praise or earthly dis- 


MIRIAM. 


85 


tinction. He met the frown of the con¬ 
spirators with unshadowed benignity, nor 
did their reproaches disturb the tranquility 
of his spirit. One morning, a voice from 
the opening heavens commanded Moses, 
Aaron and Miriam, to go up to the taber¬ 
nacle of the congregation. Then amid 
strange spreadings of light, a cloud de¬ 
scended and hung over that sanctuary of 
the Shekinah which was glowing with pur¬ 
ple and blue and embroidered with gold. 
Silence hung upon the vast assembly, while 
the three passed in wondering stillness to 
the open court Pausing there, Moses stood 
in the calmness of innocence, his noble 
figure enveloped in a simple mantle. Aaron 
was arrayed in his sacerdotal robes flash¬ 
ing with jewels and fringed with golden 
bells. Between them was the ambitious 
Miriam, richly appareled, and sullen in her 
pride and awakened fears. 


86 


MIRIAM. 


That radiant column of cloud filled the 
door of the tabernacle, and the Almighty 
spoke from its form reflecting the glory that 
mantles His Throne. He called Aaron 
and Miriam into its mysterious folds, and 
alluding to the evidences of the celestial 
commission of their brother, and assuring 
them that with none other did he talk as 
friend with friend, inquired if they were 
not afraid to reproach his servant. 

Whether with a thunder peal or a blaze 
of Omniscience he displayed his anger, we 
know not. But he manifested his kindled 
indignation, and departed. The cloud rose 
and vanished from the sight of the gazing 
tribes, and Miriam was a leper, “ white as 
snow.” Aaron beheld her, and fell at the 
feet of Moses, beseeching him to intercede 
with God. Miriam was mute, for she was 
a fallen woman—a loathsome monument 
of the wrath of Him whose vivid lightning 


MIRIAM. 


87 


is a passing shadow compared to his glance 
when once he is angry. She trembled and 
wept, while the Lawgiver prayed for mer¬ 
cy. The Lord refused to hear till the judg¬ 
ment had impressed the offender, and the 
entire multitude with its fearful lesson. 
For seven days she was an exile from the 
camp; and in their yet unshaken regard, 
the host waited uncomplainingly for her 
return. What days of meditation and re¬ 
pentance to the erring Miriam ! Genius 
had been to her as beauty to the wives of 
the patriarchs, a dangerous gift—and on the 
dizzy eminence of Power, she forgot her 
frailty, and the homage due to Jehovah. 

In the desert of Zin, Miriam died. The 
people in all their tents sent up the notes 
of wailing for the dead, till the dark defiles 
of girdling summits were filled with the sol¬ 
emn echoes, and Canaan itself seemed to 
have vanished forever from the horizon of 


MIRIAM. 


hope. The maiden-prophetess was dear to 
her wandering and weary nation. They 
had heard the story of her watching with 
breaking heart in her girlhood by the flow¬ 
ing Nile—they had seen her by the Red 
Sea, beneath the rolling mist of returning 
billows, stand like a rejoicing angel, and 
strike her timbrel to the Lord, pouring her 
chorus of victory upon the ear of solitude, 
and over the deep grave of the on-rushing 
foe ! They buried her at the base of a 
lonely height, whose tower of granite, is a 
fit memorial of her lofty genius, and singu¬ 
lar pre-eminence as the first female ruler 
and prophet mentioned in the sacred record. 
The shadow it flings upon her grave, might 
remind the beholder of the blemish that 
darkens her memory, and its gilded top 
pointing Heavenward when evening has 
shrouded the plain, indicate the character 
and destiny of the illustrious sleeper ! 


MIRIAM. 


89 


Paul refers to the history of Moses as 
illustrating the power of faith. It was confi¬ 
dence in the promise of God, that in spite of 
perils which made the effort to save his infant 
life like waiting at the sepulchre’s mouth, 
committed him to Miriam and the Nile. 
It was the same trust, breathed in Joche- 
bed’s counsels and prayer, that cheered 
the sweet maiden while she loitered among 
the reeds, and started at the plunge of the 
crocodile from his banquet of babes. It 
was faith that made her worthy to stand 
with the brotherhood in the Red Sea’s 
wave, and look calmly on its up-rolling 
waters. It was faith, woman’s faith trium¬ 
phant, that shouted victory amid the desert’s 
gloom and the thunder of the boiling deep, 
till the sound reached the very top of 
Heaven. And finally, faith was by her side 
with a convoy of angels and chariot of fire, 
when the last struggle came on in the vale 


90 


MIRIAM. 


of Paran—and she turned her fading eye in 
love on the white tents of Israel, while the 
recollection of her sin, which like a dark 
cloud had spent its wrath upon her shrink¬ 
ing form and retired, rushed upon her spirit 
from the luminous past. 

So is woman’s destiny identified with 
that of the church of the Living God. 
More than once the ark of his covenant has 
rested upon her shoulder, and she has folded 
to her bosom the whole interests of Zion in 
peril; leaning as the very “ Bride of Christ 
when all others had fallen, meekly yet heroi¬ 
cally upon the arm of her Beloved. 



Bethel, now called Beiten by the wan¬ 
dering descendants of disinherited Ishmael, 
lies in a solitary valley among the moun¬ 
tains twelve miles north of Jerusalem. 

Here Jacob rested on his way to Padan- 
aram, and while he slept in sadness and wea¬ 
riness, beneath the open sky, had a bea¬ 
tific vision of the worshiping train that 
fill the “ Temple not made with hands;” 
When he arose he poured the consecrating 


92 


DEBORAH. 


oil, and named the place Bethel, “ the house 
of God.” It was here he buried Deborah 
who had long been an inmate of his family, 
distinguished for her kindness and piety. 
In this solitude the ark and tabernacle had 
rested in sacred seclusion. But it also be¬ 
came the very fastness of Judean idolatry, 
and the heights which had glowed with the 
presence of God, were darkened with the 
shadow of temples to Ashtaroth and Baal. 
The defiles which had echoed the thrilling 
voice of the Eternal sent back the shouts 
of licentious revelry, and the blasphemies of 
idol-worship. 

Grieving over this desolation in Israel, 
and expostulating with her countrymen, 
there was Deborah the Prophetess, Judge 
among her people. According to Eastern 
custom she pitched her tent in summer in 
the shade of a spreading palm, and gave 
judgment upon the lawless, uttering in their 


DEBORAH. 


93 


reluctant ears the gathering wrath of the 
Lord for their guilty alienation from him. 
They were crushed by the despotism of a 
heathen invader, and their fruitful fields 
were turned into a desert. With obla¬ 
tions they crowded the shrines that glittered 
on every summit, while the scourge fell 
more heavily, and the cry of distress arose 
more wildly with their increasing apostacy. 

Deborah devoutly trusted in God, and 
knew that deliverance would follow re¬ 
buke. She remembered the flood, when 
a lonely vessel with a single family rode 
the crest of the billows amid the drifting 
dead, proclaiming to the universe that “ the 
Lord’s portion is his people.” She read the 
same sublime truth, in promises to the patri¬ 
archs and their rescue from the vengeance 
of foes, and it was felt in every answer to 
prayer. Calling Barak, commander of the 
national forces, she assured him the country 

5 * 


94 


DEBORAH. 


was ripe for insurrection—that Jehovah 
would shake the throne of Jabin, and vin¬ 
dicate his own sullied honor by tarnishing 
the glory of an oppressor, whose nine hun¬ 
dred chariots of iron and vast army, encom¬ 
passed them darkly as the horizon of des¬ 
pair. Barak was sceptical and hesitated 
to assume the commission ; but told Debo¬ 
rah if she would attend him, he would rally 
his scattered bands and hazard the desperate 
encounter. Girding on his sword, with the 
prophetess he entered his chariot and drove 
with tempest-speed along the valleys, sum¬ 
moning the tribes around the drooping 
standard of Israel. Jabin was reposing 
luxuriously in his palace by Lake Merom 
when the news of revolt and revolution 
reached his ear. He curled his lip in scorn, 
and told his brave General, Sisera, to har¬ 
ness his steeds to his scythed chariots, and 
as a pastime of war ride over the restless 


DEBORAH. 


95 


Hebrews till the flame of rebellion was ex¬ 
tinguished in blood. Barak with ten thou¬ 
sand men marched up the side of Mount 
Tabor to its fortified top, and watched their 
coming, the thunder of whose myriad wheels 
shook that mountain, over whose stillness 
hovered the wings of the Almighty, and the 
angel of victory waved unseen the banner 
of a celestial host! Deborah looked off* on 
the scene, with the eye of a poet and 
prophet. On the north lay the valleys and 
mountains of Galilee. Towards the south, 
was the wide plain of Esdrelon, guarded 
on one hand by Mount Hermon, and on the 
other by Gilboa. Eastward, Kishon, “ that 
ancient river, Kishon,” wound among the 
hills to the Mediterranean, whose waters 
melted away into the haze of the horizon. 
On the west, slept in the sunlight the sea 
of Genesareth, and Jordan rolled its waves. 
Nature was peaceful and glorious—as 


96 


DEBORAH. 


though the sweet vale of Kishon could ne¬ 
ver tremble to the tread of slaughtering 
armies, and its current be turned by the 
slain into a torrent of blood. 

The host of Sisera, came pouring down 
the defile into the plain, when Deborah 
raised her shout— u Up ! Barak ! for this is 
the day in which the Lord hath delivered 
Sisera into thy hand ; is not the Lord gone 
out before thee ? ” Barak with his ten thou¬ 
sand soldiers then made a descent to the 
banks of the river, where the Canaanites 
numbering according to Josephus three hun¬ 
dred thousand footmen and ten thousand 
cavalry, were drawn up in battle array. 

Sisera stood in his chariot and surveyed 
his legions with their flying banners, capa¬ 
risoned steeds, and Captains impatient for 
the glory of conquest, and turned with a 
glance of haughty contempt toward the 
steady march of his unequal foe. With a 


DEBORAH. 


97 


shout that was heard along the enemy’s 
line like a trumpet-call, Barak’s columns 
dashed into the very bosom of Sisera’s 
host, led on by disciplined horsemen, and 
walled in by chariots of iron which sent 
a tempest of javelins, and the slinger’s hail 
of death ; while swords clashed and gleam¬ 
ed in the resistless onset of the Hebrew 
battalions. The imperial ranks were bro¬ 
ken, and reeled before the shock. Sisera 
rallied his hitherto invincible forces, and 
swept down upon the enemy like an en¬ 
gulfing tide—and again recoiled before the 
steady and deadly advance of the undrill¬ 
ed army, Deborah had called into being, 
like Rhoderic’s men, uprising with flash¬ 
ing steel from the brakes of the mountain 
slope. He turned to flee, and the soldiers 
followed in dismay before the devouring 
sword into the current of Kishon, to pass 
over. But the waters, which often rose 



98 


DEBORAH. 


suddenly from the swollen streams of the 
summits at its source, overflowed the banks, 
and they were borne a shrieking and ghast¬ 
ly throng, with horses and chariots, weap¬ 
ons, and ensigns of battle, down beneath 
the surging and crimson flood. Deborah 
and Barak, like Moses and Miriam, looked 
on the scene, and gave God the glory. Be¬ 
hold, in the distance the fugitive chieftain 
of that Gentile host! Barak pursuing, 
now catches a glimpse of his flying form on 
the crest of a hill, and again he is lost from 
his straining sight. 

Heber a descendant of Jethro, had pitch¬ 
ed his tent in the plain of Zaanaim, and 
maintained neutrality during the fierce con¬ 
test which restored the independence of Ju¬ 
dea. His wife saw Sisera coming, and with 
a cheerful salutation offered him the refuge 
and hospitality of her home. The terrified 
and weary man turned in to rest till the 


DEBORAH. 


99 


pursuer had passed. She spread over him 
a mantle, and calmed his fears as the shout 
of the enemy came faintly to his ear, and he 
looked wildly through the parted curtains 
on the path of his flight. Jael bade him 
repose securely, and he fell asleep ; for the 
struggle of that burning day and escape 
from the battle-field, had overtasked his 
frame and bewildered his thought. Stealing 
quietly to his pillow, with a single stroke, 
the iron entered his throbbing temples, and 
fastened him to the earth. A convulsive 
start, a look of agony, a tremor of his manly 
form, a gasp for life, and all was over—the 
dew of the sepulchre was on his brow, and 
his long locks lay clamily around his pallid 
features and rayless eye, which just before 
shone with heroic fire in the deepening con¬ 
flict. Then came Barak flushed with vic¬ 
tory, and Jael met him. She told him to go 
in and look at the man he was pursuing ; 


100 


DEBORAH, 


and with his hand on his sword-hilt, he en¬ 
tered the tent to complete the slaughter. 
But a woman , according to Deborah’s pre¬ 
diction, as a reproof for his own timidity, 
had snatched the laurel from his extended 
hand. Starting back from the corpse her 
blow had rivited to the ground, with wound¬ 
ed pride, he gazed silently on his helpless 
foe. The cloud hung but a moment upon 
his noble spirit; he thanked God, applauded 
the Kenite for her deed, and bore the body 
in triumph to the foot of Tabor, where the 
prophetess had beheld the scene of battle, 
and waited his return. 

Then sang Deborah and Barak, a duet of 
great sublimity; a song through which runs 
a seraphic ardor—a holy panting of soul to 
emulate in praise those who pour their tide 
of harmony into the depths of eternity ! 
Every cliff' and defile of Mount Tabor echo¬ 
ed the melody, and the forest seemed to 


DEBORAH. 


101 


shake its green leaves with joy, while the 
anthem died away on the bosom of distant 
Carmel. The multitude stood mute and 
motionless, as the jubilant strains rose like 
the sky-lark’s song to Heaven’s gate, then 
descended in fainter tones as if a wail for 
the dead, to the bed of the slain. 

Oh ! little thought they then, that the 
mountain-top on which they encamped, and 
which now stood a monument of mercy 
and of wrath, would in the lapse of ages, 
become more luminous than day beneath 
the opening sky, while Moses and Elias de¬ 
scended in their white robes to commune 
with the transfigured Son of God, whose 
brightness fell on the astonished disciples, 
till they bowed and worshiped in fearful 
reverence. Nor did they deem that on 
its consecrated brow, a mighty Homicide 
would stand and pour his troops upon the 
same trampled plain. That when the strife 


102 


DEBORAH. 


was over, and the smoke of the battle gath¬ 
ered upon the still height while dying groans 
went sadly up its side, the shout of blas¬ 
phemy and the riot of lust, would rend the 
air and fill with the cries of fiends its hal¬ 
lowed solitude. 

Deborah returned to the shade of her 
Palm Tree, and Israel to the High Places, 
and shivered the idols of Baal. Whether 
we contemplate this gifted woman listening 
to the complaints of her people, and utter¬ 
ing her decisions with the dignity and 
authority of a Judge—or attended by Barak 
sounding through all the coast the tocsin of 
war; standing on Mount Tabor, and gazing 
unterrified on the living tide of armed men 
—or with the conquerer when the battle 
was past, in the utterance of purest poetry 
giving all the glory to God, she commands 
equally our admiration. This is the second 
heroine in Scripture invested with princely 


DEBORAH. 


103 


power, and gains in the comparison with 
Miriam. For if she had faults, they are un¬ 
recorded, and she stands before us unblem¬ 
ished by the homage of a grateful nation, 
who in their devotion, added to her titles 
that of Mother in Israel. 

How impressively the scenes at which 
we have glanced illustrate the fact, that 
earth is a sphere of probation and trial, 
fore-shadowing in its retributions, the scenes 
of that day when every man will reap the 
harvest he has sown. The chastisement 
of the Hebrews—the overthrow of their 
persecutors in turn—the fall of Sisera, and 
the affection Deborah received as a more 
valued reward than laurels, for well-doing 
when the popular taste was wholly against 
her; are replete with encouragement and 
warning, and point to the decisions and the 
doom of a final adjudication. 




' 

. 









There is a tragical interest in the brief 
story of Jeptha’s Daughter. It contains the 
elements of physical, mental, and moral suf¬ 
fering, which have power over the imagina¬ 
tion and the heart. 

Jeptha a Gileadite, was an illegitimate 
son, and consequently subjected to galling 
insults and cold neglect, which strongly 
marked his character. He became an in¬ 
dependent, impetuous and fearless man, 




106 


jeptha’s daughter. 


whose daring exploits won distinction for 
the youthful hero. 

This enhanced the hostility of his breth¬ 
ren, until they banished him from the an¬ 
cestral domain, and appropriated to them¬ 
selves his patrimony. He fled to the land 
of Tob, beyond the frontier of Israel, proba- 
ly in the borders of Arabia, and supported 
himself in his solitude, by depredations 
upon the enemies of his people, a career 
not forbidden by the ethics of those primi¬ 
tive days. His achievements soon gathered 
around him a band of lawless men—a com¬ 
pany of brigands ready for the wildest on¬ 
set, or the dark and patient vigil 

“ Of him who treasures up a wrong ! ” 

“Even our different climate and manners 
afford some parallel in the Robin Hoods of 
former days; in the border forays, when 
England and Scotland were ostensibly at 


jeptha’s daughter. 


107 


peace ; and in principle, however great the 
formal difference—in the authorized and 
popular piracies of Drake, Raleigh, and the 
other moral heroes of the Elizabethan era.” 

Jair, the judge in Israel at the time of 
Jeptha’s expulsion, died, and the Hebrews, 
yielding to that strange tendency of the hu¬ 
man soul toward idolatry, because in his 
absolute personality Jehovah is invisible, 
introduced the forms of image-worship 
which met their observation in all their in¬ 
tercourse with the tribes that hung mena¬ 
cingly upon their boundaries The loss of 
influence and dignity, disloyalty to God 
carried along with it, besides the withdraw- 
ment of his protection, invited the hordes 
of idolaters to conquest—and like the north- 
men who poured resistlessly upon the plains 
of degenerate Italy, the Amorites on one 
side, and the Philistines upon the other, 
overswept the land. 


108 


JEPTHA S DAUGHTER. 


Then the Jewish Elders turned to Jep- 
tha, whose prowess alone could rally his 
inefficient and suffering countrymen. His 
reply to the delegation who found him in 
his fastness among the desolate hills exhib¬ 
its the spirited independence of the fugitive. 
“ Did not ye hate me, and expel me from 
my father’s house 1 and why are ye come 
to me now, ichen ye are in distress ? ” They 
conciliated the chief by offering him the 
generalship of the army. He accepted on 
condition, as security against permitting 
again his banishment, while he was also 
conscious of his ability to govern, that if 
victorious, he should be made Judge in Is¬ 
rael. That he was not an unprincipled 
bandit, is evident from his tactics in the 
projected war. He personally demanded 
of his foes the ground of their invasion ; and 
wffien they asserted their original claim, he 
laid down an acknowledged principle in the 


JEPTHAS DAUGHTER. 


109 


law of nations, that the actual possessors of 
the land when taken by the Israelites, con¬ 
ferred a full and unquestionable title. 

The negotiation closed, and the opposing 
armies prepared for battle. Then appeared 
the religious element in the character of Jep- 
tha, however obscured before, in a solemn 
vow although rashly spoken. He pledged 
to the Lord, if he would overthrow the 
legions of Amorites and allow him to re¬ 
turn a conqueror peacefully to his dwel¬ 
ling, the first living form he met as a burnt 
offering upon the altar of thanksgiving. 
It strikes one, from the fact his home was 
cheered by a loving and only daughter, he 
must have apprehended the possibility of 
her welcome upon his triumphant return— 
but in the brilliant prospects before him 
and his bleeding country, with the weight of 
responsibility so unexpectingly assumed, his 
enthusiasm and doubtful struggle before 


110 


JEPTHA S DAUGHTER. 


him, absorbed all considerations of personal 
sacrifice, and gave no time for deliberation. 

Girded with his tried sword, he led his 
army from the declivities, across Jordan 
where the enemy blackened the plain, and 
sent out their loud challenge to conflict. 
The might of the Lord came upon him, as 
on Barak the son of Abinoam, and he dash¬ 
ed like a falling bolt into the ranks of gleam¬ 
ing spears and waiting blades. They closed 
around Jeptha’s bands, then reeled and ral¬ 
lied, and again fell back as a forest before the 
hurricane, till the route was complete. But 
Jeptlia followed up the victory till twenty 
cities capitulated, and his weary soldiers 
refreshed themselves in the valley of vine¬ 
yards, whose soil was reddened by the life¬ 
blood that flowed in the trenches, with trod¬ 
den clusters from the overshadowing vine. 

Then followed the trial and the offering. 
With a guard of his grateful warriors he 


jeptha’s daughter. 


Ill 


marched towards Mizpeh—and “Behold, 
his daughter came forth to meet him with 
timbrels and with dances ; and she teas his 
only child” 

In his wanderings and loneliness, she had 
been true, and lived in the smile that played 
upon his stern features when by his side, 
and had wept w T hen sadness subdued the 
wonted brightness of his flashing eye. He 
had thrown around her form his strong arms 
in the affection of a great yet wounded heart, 
and twined in musing fondness her ring¬ 
lets around the hand that foemen feared. 
And now more beautiful than ever, in the 
fine excitement of filial rapture, with a 
train of damsels who had gathered at the 
tidings of conquest to celebrate the splendid 
career of her father, she approaches him 
with a salutation in which was poured a 
tide of joy that spoke through every linea¬ 
ment of her lovely face. The fear that had 


112 


jeptha’s daughter. 


made his brain reel at times along the way, 
was merged in the crushing certainty of a ter¬ 
rible reality. Rending his robes, he cried, 
“Alas ! my daughter—for I have opened my 
mouth unto the Lord and I cannot go back.” 

When the rush of new emotion that met 
the subsiding swell of gratulation, as the 
gloomy surges of a sudden tempest chase 
the sunlit-billows, was past, and a mourn¬ 
ful calmness succeeded, she stood there a 
touching monument of early piety and dis¬ 
interested love, neither romance nor the 
pages of profane history can furnish. Then 
she said, “ My father, if thou hast opened 
thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me accor¬ 
ding to that which has proceeded out of 
thy mouth ; forasmuch as the Lord has ta¬ 
ken vengeance for thee of thine enemies, the 
children of Ammon.” Then pausing, while 
he was mute in the dread paralysis of grief 
and remorse, she asked the delay of two 


jeptha’s daughter. 


113 


months in the execution of his vow, while 
attended by her companions, she went forth 
upon the solitary mountains to bewail her 
virginity. 

There the doomed maiden wandered like 
the very spirit of solitude, beneath a sky that 
seemed to mock her destiny with its cloud¬ 
less glow, and reposed at night while the 
changeless stars beamed brightly, as when 
she strayed blithely there with the exiled 
Jeptha. The months vanished, and she re¬ 
turned with uncomplaining fidelity to yield 
her life upon the sacrificial altar.* 

Curiosity is left to conjecture in regard 
to the particulars of that last parting of 
Jeptha and his daughter—his fruitless la¬ 
ment while she hung upon his neck, and 


* When the circumstances and evidences are carefully 
considered, the opinion that she was sacrificed “according 
to his vow ” rests on the strongest probability, nor would 
it is believed be questioned, were it not for the fearful result 
it involves. 



114 


jeptha’s daughter. 


her soothing accents of cheerful resignation. 
And when she lay in robes of virgin purity 
upon the altar, and closed her mild eye, 
while the high-priest lifted his burnished 
blade, what an illustration of the authority 
of conscience, which brought her there, and 
which echoes unceasingly when unpervert¬ 
ed, the claims of immutable right. It has 
a whisper more awakening than the trum¬ 
pet-blast—and a power that invests a man 
with the majesty of an angel, or the dark 
sublimity of a demon. 

The scene also illustrates the solemnity 
of covenant obligation to the Christian, 
and its eternal force. The individual con¬ 
secration, and baptismal vow to train off¬ 
spring for God, compared with Jeptha’s 
hasty and criminal oath, are infinitely more 
fearful—and inscribed on the columns of 
the White Throne, will meet the gaze when 
“ this mortal shall put on immortality.” 



Were Life, like the “ Court of Death,” 
thrown on canvass, it would he no less a 
picture of contrasts—a panorama of visible 
scenes and shades of character dissimilar 
ever, though perpetually changing. In the 
market place, the incarnate fiend jostles the 
humble saint—the haughty rich man passes 
with scorn the unoffending poor. The vile 
walk unblushingly by the side of the vir¬ 
tuous, glorying over innocence and beauty 








116 


DELILAH. 


blasted forever; and the weak cower be¬ 
neath the frown and grasp of the strong. 
In the forum, the unworthy judge gives 
sentence on the less guilty criminal, and 
the citizen of unstained integrity sits on the 
same jurors’ bench with the undetected 
villain. The statesman, the orator, and 
the bard, crowned with honor and weary 
of praise, lie raving with delirium, or in 
idiotic silence before the intoxicating bowl; 
and the proudest prince, and the hero of a 
thousand battles, kneeling in unresisting 
captivity, cast crown and laurels at the feet 
of beauty. Such a contrast as the last has 
distinguished Delilah among the women of 
Scripture memory, while by the portraits 
already drawn, she forms one no less stri¬ 
king as a female character. She was a 
beautiful Philistine, living on that border 
of Canaan settled by the tribe of Dan. 

Samson, son of Manoah, who like Isaac 


DELILAH. 


117 


was the gift of God in answer to prayer, 
became judge over his nation harassed by 
enemies, about forty years after Jeptha’s 
death. Of remarkable strength and daring, 
he was great unlike any before him. Barak, 
Gideon and Jeptha, led brave armies and 
obtained splendid victories: Samson was 
an army in himself \ and hurled defiance by 
the might of his single arm at the hosts of 
Israel’s foe. In one of his excursions to 
Philistia he saw Delilah, and admired her 
beauty. The valiant judge had occasion 
often afterward to visit the valley of Sorek, 
and at length made the damsel his bride.* 
The lords of the Philistines saw that 
Samson was in the toils of love—that a 
syren’s voice had well nigh drowned the 
call of duty and the mandate of “ The un- 

* His marriage is not mentioned, but as commentators 
differ on this point, I have chosen the supposition that De¬ 
lilah was his wife. 


6* 



118 


DELILAH. 


known God.” They therefore went to De¬ 
lilah with flattering persuasion and a bribe 
of money, to induce her to extort from him 
the secret of his strength, and deliver him 
into their hands. 

Three times he made a pastime of her 
curiosity, and when she thought he was her 
captive, swung his sinewy arms in mock-en¬ 
deavor to escape, and walked away from his 
thraldom with a smile of triumph wreath¬ 
ing his lip. But as often as she met him, 
with chiding fondness Delilah would fix her 
dark eye upon him, and throwing around 
him all the fascination of voluptuous love¬ 
liness, entreat him to tell her the talisman 
of his strength. 

Harassed with the affairs of state, he 
sought her home to refresh his drooping 
spirits, and as often was wearied with her 
request, till one day reclining by her side, 
and completely under the influence of her 


DELILAH. 


119 


charms, he told her his long and raven 
locks were the badge of his might—the 
glory of the Nazarine. God had made this 
the symbol of his miraculous relation to 
Him, and he threw it as a toy into the lap 
of the Gentile beauty. He fell asleep on her 
knee, and calling a Philistine she bade him 
shave off the luxuriant hair that lay in folds 
upon his brawny shoulders; then cried, 
“ The Philistines be upon thee, Samson ! ” 
He awakened, and starting at the repeated 
alarm, shook his noble frame, and took 
the wonted attitude of battle with his foes. 
But Jehovah who was his strength had 
abandoned the victor. Despoiled of his 
eyes, he was led to Gaza, whose gates he 
had once borne away at night, and loaded 
with chains of brass. 

It is not probable Delilah anticipated 
this result, but only expected his temporary 
confinement. Milton has so beautifully de- 


120 


DELILAH. 


lineated in “Samson Agonistes” both the 
hero and his wife, we shall introduce ex¬ 
tracts from the scene of their meeting, just 
before he was led from the mill where he had 
toiled as a national slave, to entertain with 
his feats thousands of the populace and no¬ 
bility assembled in the great temple of Da- 
gon, worshiping there before his shrine, and 
holding a jubilee to commemorate the bril¬ 
liant achievement of the champion’s capture. 

Delilah goes sorrowfully to the lonely 
captive, yet admired of the multitude as 
she sweeps by with an air of royalty— 

Like a stately ship 
Of Tarsus, bound for th’ isles 
Of Javan or Gadire, 

With all her bravery on, and tackle trim, 

Sails fill’d, and streamers waving, 

An amber scent of odorous perfume 
Her harbinger, a damsel train behind. 

* * But now, with head declin’d. 

Like a fair flower, surcharg’d with dew, she weeps, 
And words address’d seem into tears dissolv’d. 

Wetting the borders of her silken veil. 


DELILAH. 


121 


Delilah attempts to conciliate Samson, 
expressing her sorrow over the unlooked- 
for consequence of her folly, and desire to 
atone, if possible, for the fearful act. 

Sams. —Out, out, h} aena ! these are thy wonted arts, 
And arts of every woman false like thee, 

To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray, 

Then as repentant, to submit, beseech, 

And reconcilement move with feign’d remorse, 

Confess, and promise wonders in her change. 
***** 

Del. —Yet hear me, Samson ; not that I endeavour 
To lessen or extenuate my offence, 

But that, on th’ other side if it be weigh’d 
By itself, with aggravations not surcharg’d. 

Or else with just allowance counterpois’d, 

I may, if possible, thy pardon find 
The easier towards me, or thy hatred less. 

First granting, as I do, it was a weakness 
In me, but incident to all our sex, 

Curiosity, inquisitive, importune 
Of secrets, then with like infirmity 
To publish them, both common female faults: 

Was it not weakness also to make known 
For importunity, that is for nought. 

Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety I 
To what I did, thou show’dst me first the way. 

But I to enemies reveal’d, and should not; 

Nor shouldst thou have trusted that to woman’s frailty : 


122 


DELILAH. 


Ere I to thee, thou to thyself was’t cruel. 

Let weakness then to weakness come to pari, 

So near related or the same of kind. 

Thine forgive mine. * * * 

Sams. —How cunningly the sorceress displays 
Her own transgressions to upbraid me mine! 

* * * Weakness is thy excuse, 

And I believe it; weakness to resist 
Philistia’s gold; if weakness may excuse, 

What murderer, what traitor, parricide. 

Incestuous, sacriligious but may plead it 1 
All wickedness is weakness : that plea therefore 
With God or man will give thee no remission. 

Delilah then interposes the plea of im¬ 
portunity from her countrymen, and relig¬ 
ious obligation urged by the priest of Dagon. 

Sams. —I thought where all thy circling wiles would 
In feign’d religion, smooth hypocrisy. [end ; 

Del. —I was a fool, too rash and quite mistaken 
In what I thought would have mended best. 

Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson, 

Afford me place to show what recompense 
Towards thee I intend for what I have misdone, 
Misguided. * * * * 

I to the lords will intercede, not doubting 
Their favorable ear, that I may fetch thee 
Forth from this loathsome prison house to abide 
With me, where my redoubled love and care 


DELILAH. 


123 


With nursing diligence, to me glad office. 

May ever tend about thee to old age, 

With all things grateful cheer’d, and so supplied, 
That what by me thou hast lost, thou least shalt miss. 

Sams. —No, no, of my condition take no care; 

It fits not; thou and I long since are twain; 

Nor think me so unwary or accurst, 

To bring my feet again into the snare 

Where once I have been caught: I know thy trains. 

Though dearly to my cost, thy gins and toils; 

Thy fair enchanted cup and warbling charms 
No more on me have power; their force is null’d, 

So much of adder’s wisdom I have learn’d 
To fence my ear against thy sorceries. 
***** 

Del. —Let me approach at least and touch thy hand. 

Sams. —Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance wake 
My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint. 

At distance I forgive thee ; go with that, 

Bewail thy falsehood, and the pious works 
It hath brought forth to make thee memorable 
Among illustrious women, faithful wives. 

Cherish thy hasten’d widowhood with the gold 
Of matrimonial treason ! So farewell. 

Del. — I see thou art implacable, more deaf 
To prayers than winds and seas; yet winds to seas 
Are reconcil’d at length, and sea to shore: 

Thy anger unappeasable still rages, 

Eternal tempest never to be calm’d. 

Why do I humble thus myself, and, suing 


124 


DELILAH. 


For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate? 
***** 

Fame, if not double-faced, is double mouth’d, 

And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds; 

On both his wings, one black, the other white, 

Bears greatest names in his wild airy flight. 

My name perhaps among the circumcis’d, 

In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering tribes, 

To all posterity may stand defam’d, 

With malediction mention’d, and the blot 
Of falsehood most unconjugal traduc’d. 

But in my country where I most desire, 

In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath, 

I shall be nam’d among the famousest 
Of women sung at solemn festivals, 

Living and dead recorded, who to save 
Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose 
Above the faith of wedlock bands ; my tomb 
With odours visited and annual flowers; 

Not less renown’d than in Mount Ephraim 

Jael, with inhospitable guile 

Smote Sisera sleeping, through the temples nail’d. 

Nor shall I count it heinous to enjoy 

The public marks of honor and reward 

Conferr’d upon me, for the piety 

Which to my country I was judg’d to have shown. 

At this whoever envies or repines, 

I leave him to his lot, and like my own. 

Whether Delilah was in the mighty struc¬ 
ture when Samson was the sport of his 


DELILAH. 


125 


captors—the subject of scorn and brilliant 
wit by the nobility of Philistia—we cannot 
tell. She may have stood sad and silent 
with remorse, and remembered kindness she 
would share no more, while leaning mourn¬ 
fully between the massive pillars he grasped 
with extended arms, he bowed his sightless 
head and prayed for the return of his for¬ 
feited power, that he might avenge his own, 
and the enemies of God. It is in accord¬ 
ance with God’s retributive justice on for¬ 
mer occasions, to believe she was there, 
and when in answer to that piteous cry of 
a penitent spirit, the tall columns reeled 
before his recovered strength, like interlock¬ 
ing masts on a wrathful deep, and the walls 
heaved and fell in with the descending roof, 
her’s was the first shriek that went up from 
that vast tomb of living throngs, whose mu¬ 
sic and mirth were drowned in a wail of 
agony and groans of the death-struggle. 


126 


DELILAH. 


This wonderful man, a greater than Her¬ 
cules, was evidently subdued by his afflic¬ 
tion, and a loyal worshiper of God—with 
all the strange contradictions in his char¬ 
acter, his inglorious fall and tragical death, 
he joined without doubt, the patriarchal 
ranks above; while the fair idolater clung 
to her gods and perished forever. 

Previous to her advent, the women of Bi¬ 
ble fame, pass before the imagination in the 
vision of antiquity, like pure and radiant 
stars, their frailties scarcely more than the 
wing of a transparent cloud upon those beau¬ 
tiful spheres. Delilah rises suddenly from 
darkness, as a glorious meteor describes an 
arc of romantic and fatal light, and goes 
down in an horizon of awful gloom. Beauty 
with an unsanctified heart, no less than intel¬ 
lect, is a bright anathema —and while others 
mourn its bestowal, the possessor is ulti¬ 
mately a wreck, over which angels weep ! 



The story of Ruth, written doubtless by 
Samuel, and thrown in between the deso¬ 
lating wars of the Judges and those which 
followed under the Kings, is a touching 
picture of quiet pastoral life—a lifting of 
the curtain rolled in blood, from the back 
ground of tragic scenes, upon a peaceful 
home, where love has its trial and triumph. 
The thoughts rest like the Dove upon a 
green hill-top, after flying wearily over the 



128 


RUTH. 


unburied slain and a deluged world, upon 
this bright vision amid heathen cruelties 
and slaughtered armies. We could not 
spare the short book of Ruth from the 
Bible. It not only illustrates God’s par¬ 
ticular providence and protection of his peo¬ 
ple, but is an indispensable link in the ge¬ 
nealogy of Christ, and is thus quoted in 
Matthew. A Moabitess is united to the an¬ 
cestry of David, fore-shadowing the truth 
that the Redeemer would shed his love 
and recovering mercy on the Gentile nations. 

Voltaire dwelt with enthusiasm on the 
marvelous sweetness and simplicity of this 
“ gem in oriental history.” 

Fiction has never written so truthful and 
beautiful a tale—one while it reaches and 
subdues the heart, leaves no stain that 
would soil an angel’s purity. Like all God’s 
works and manifestations, it is faultless. 

“No novelist has ever been able, with 


RUTH. 


129 


his utmost efforts, to paint so lovely, so per¬ 
fect a character as this simple story pre¬ 
sents. From first to last, Ruth appears 
before us endowed with every virtue and 
charm that render a woman attractive. 
Naomi’s husband was a man of wealth, 
and left Bethlehem to escape the famine 
that was wasting the land. In Moab he 
found plenty, and there with his wife and 
two sons, who married Ruth and Orpah, 
lived awhile and died. In the course of ten 
years, the two sons died also, and then 
Naomi, broken-hearted, desolate and poor, 
resolved to return and die in her native 
land. How touching her last interview 
with her daughters-in-law, when she bade 
them farewell, and prayed that as they had 
been kind to her and her dead sons, so 
might the Lord be kind to them. Surprised 
that they refused to leave her, she reasoned 
with them, saying that she was a widow 


130 


RUTH. 


and childless, and to go with her was to 
seek poverty and exile in a strange land. 
She could offer them no home, and perhaps 
the Jewish young men would scorn their 
foreign birth, and when she died none would 
be left to care for them or protect them. 
There they had parents, brothers and 
friends, who loved them and would cherish 
them. On the one hand were rank in so¬ 
ciety and comfort, on the other disgrace and 
poverty. Orpah felt the force of this lan¬ 
guage and turned back ; but Ruth, still 
clinging to her, Naomi declared that it w T as 
the act of folly and madness to follow the 
fortunes of one for whom no bright future 
was in store, no hope this side the grave. 
She sought only to see the place of her 
childhood once more, and then lie down 
where the palm trees of her native land 
might cast their shadows over her place of 
rest. ‘ Go back,’ said she, ‘ with my sis- 


RUTH. 


131 


ter-in-law.’ She might as well have spoken 
to the rock:—that gentle being by her side, 
all shrinking timidity and modesty, whose 
tender feelings the slightest breath could agi¬ 
tate, was immovable in her affections. Her 
eye would sink abashed before the bold 
look of impertinence, but with her bosom 
pressed on one she loved, she could look on 
death in its grimest forms unappalled. Fra¬ 
gile as the bending willow, she seemed, but 
in her true love, firm as the rooted oak. 
The hand of violence might crush, but never 
loosen her gentle clasp. With those white 
arms around her mother’s neck, and her 
breast heaving convulsively, she sobbed 
forth 1 Entreat me not to leave thee , for where 
thougoest I will go, and where thou lodgest 
I will lodge : thy people shall be my people, 
and thy God my God: where thou diest I 
will die, and there will I be buried:— 
nought but death shall part us.’ 


132 


RUTH. 


“ Beautiful and brave heart! home, and 
friends, and wealth, nay, the gods she had 
been taught to worship, were all forgotten 
in the warmth of her affection. Tearful 
yet firm, ‘Entreat me not to leave thee/ 
she said; ‘ I care not for the future; I can 
bear the worst; and when thou art taken 
from me, I will linger around thy grave till 
I die, and then the stranger shall lay me by 
thy side !’ What could Naomi do but fold 
the beautiful being to her bosom and be 
silent, except as tears gave utterance to her 
emotions. Such a heart outweighs the 
treasures of the world, and such absorbing 
love, truth and virtue, make all the accom¬ 
plishments of life appear worthless in com¬ 
parison. 

“ The two unprotected women took their 
journey on foot towards Bethlehem. It was 
in the latter part of summer, and as they 
wandered along the roads and through the 


RUTH. 


133 


fields of Palestine, Ruth by a thousand 
winning ways endeavored to cheer her 
mother. Naomi was leaving behind her 
the graves of those she loved, and penni¬ 
less and desolate, returning to the place 
which she had left with a husband and two 
manly sons, and loaded with wealth, and 
hence a cloud hung upon her spirit. Yet 
in spite of her grief she was often compelled 
to smile through her tears, and struggled to 
be cheerful, so as not to sadden the heart 
of the unselfish, innocent being by her side. 
And at fervid noon, when they sat down be¬ 
neath the shadowy palm to take their fru¬ 
gal meal, Ruth hastened to the neighboring 
rill, for a cooling draught of water for her 
mother, and plucked the sweetest flowers 
to comfort her. 

“ Thus, day after day, they traveled on, 
until at length, one evening, just as the glo¬ 
rious sun of Asia was stooping to the wes- 

7 


134 


RUTH. 


tern horizon, the towers of Bethlehem arose 
in sight. Suddenly a thousand tender as¬ 
sociations, all that she had possessed and 
all that she had lost, the past and the pres¬ 
ent, rushed over her broken spirit, and she 
knelt and prayed and wept. 1 Call me 
not/ said she to the friends of her early 
days, who accosted her as she passed 
through the gates, ‘ call me not Naomi, or 
the pleasant, but Mara, bitter ) for the Al¬ 
mighty has dealt very bitterly with me.’ 

“ Here again Ruth’s character shone forth 
in its loveliness. She was not one of those 
all sentiment and no principle; in whom de¬ 
votion is mere romance, and self-sacrifice ex¬ 
pends itself in poetic expressions. Though 
accustomed to wealth, and all the attention 
and respect of a lady of rank, she stooped to 
the service of a menial in order to support 
her mother. With common hirelings she 
entered the fields as a gleaner, and without 


RUTH. 


135 


a murmur trained her delicate hands to 
the rough usage of a day-laborer. At night 
her hard earnings were poured with a smile 
into the lap of her mother, and living wholly 
in her world of love, was unmindful of every 
thing else. Boaz saw her amid the glean¬ 
ers, and struck with her modest bearing 
and beauty, inquired who she was. On 
being told, he accosted her kindly, saying 
that he had heard of her virtues, her devo¬ 
tion to her mother, and her self-sacrifices, 
and invited her that day to dine at the com¬ 
mon table. With her long, dark locks fall¬ 
ing in ringlets over her neck and shoulders, 
and her cheek crimsoned with her recent 
exertions, and the excitement at finding 
herself opposite the rich landlord, in whose 
fields she had been gleaning, and who help¬ 
ed her at the table as his guest, sat the im¬ 
personation of beauty and loveliness. That 
Boaz was fascinated by her charms, as well 


136 


RUTH. 


as by her character, was evident. He had 
watched her deportment, and saw how she 
shunned the companionship of the young 
men who sought her acquaintance, and of 
whose attentions her fellow gleaners would 
have been proud. Nothing was too hum¬ 
ble, if it ministered to her mother’s comfort, 
but beyond that she condescended to noth¬ 
ing that was inconsistent with her birth. 
Whether abashed by his looks and embar¬ 
rassed by his attentions, or from her native 
delicacy of character, she arose from the 
table before the rest had finished, and re¬ 
tired. After she had left, Boaz told the 
young men to let her take from the sheaves 
without rebuke, and then, as if suddenly 
recollecting how different she was from the 
other gleaners, and that every sheaf was 
as safe where she trod as it would have 
been in his own granary, he bade them drop 
handfuls by the way, which she, wondering 


RUTH. 


137 


at their carelessness, gathered up. At sun¬ 
set she beat it out and carried it to her 
mother. Naomi, surprised at the quantity, 
questioned her closely as to where she had 
gleaned, and when Ruth told her the histo¬ 
ry of the day, the fond mother divined the 
whole. Her noble and lovely Ruth had 
touched the heart of one of her wealthy 
kinsmen, and she waited the issue. 

“ The long conversations they held to¬ 
gether, and the struggles of the beautiful 
Moabitess, before she could bring herself 
to obey her mother and lie down at the feet 
of Boaz, thus claiming his protection and 
love, are not recorded. Custom made it 
proper and right, but we venture to say 
that Ruth never passed a more uncomfort¬ 
able night than that. Her modesty and 
delicacy must have kept her young heart 
in a state of agitation that almost mocked 
her self-control. The silent appeal, how- 


138 


RUTH. 


ever, was felt by her rich relative, and he 
made her his wife. The devotion to her 
helpless mother—her self-humiliation in 
performing the office of a menial—the long 
summer of wasting toil—the many heart¬ 
aches caused by the rough shocks she was 
compelled, from her very position, to receive, 
at length met with their reward. Toiling 
through the sultry day, and beating out her 
hard earnings at night, the only enjoyment 
she had known was the consciousness that 
by her exertions Naomi lived. It had been 
difficult, when weary and depressed, to 
give a cheerful tone to her voice, so as not 
to sadden her anxious mother-in-law ; but 
still the latter saw that the task she had 
voluntarily assumed was too great, and 
therefore, at length, claimed from Boaz the 
obligations of a kinsman. Love, however, 
was stronger than those claims, and he took 
Ruth to his bosom with the strong affection 


RUTH. 


139 


of a generous and noble man. She thus 
rose at once to the rank for which she was 
fitted, and in time the beautiful gleaner of 
the fields of Bethlehem became the great¬ 
grandmother of the King of Israel.” 

Ruth was naturally affectionate and 
amiable, but evidently owed that moral ele¬ 
vation of character which made her decision 
to go with Naomi, although a forlorn hope 
even did not brighten their path, sublime 
in its unyielding strength, to the religious 
culture of that Hebrew mother. 

Orpah, less deeply impressed with the 
worship of the living God, returned at the 
urgent entreaty of Naomi, to her wealthy 
friends, and the adoration of Chemosh, the 
deity of Moab. 

There is a fine appeal to the moral feel¬ 
ings in the last address to Ruth. “ Behold 
thy sister-in-law is gone back unto her 
people, and unto her gods; return thou 


140 


RUTH. 


after thy sister-in-law.” In her deep dis¬ 
tress, Naomi knew not what to do—and 
throwing all the responsibility on the weep¬ 
ing Ruth, seemed to say, “ Before us is fam¬ 
ine and death—you can avoid sharing this 
bitter cup by a return to your people and 
idols.” With the spirit of a martyr that 
lovely being sobbed while she hung on 
Naomi’s neck, “ I cannot forsake thee—let 
thy fate and God be mine.” 

So did the family of Elimelech on the 
border of extinction, emerge from gloom 
into splendor which shines onward through 
all the lineage of David, blending at length 
with the glory that illumined the same vale 
of Bethlehem, when the chorus of angels 
was poured on the midnight air, because 
their King was cradled there in homeless 
solitude. 



In a rich valley of Mount Ephraim, a 
central range of summits in Palestine, El- 
kanah, a pious shepherd, kept his flocks. 
As Jacob before him, he married two wives, 
and had also to bear the curse which at¬ 
tends a violation of the law of marriage as 
it came from Heaven. 

Peninnah had sons and daughters, while 
Hannah, unblest with children, was the 
most tenderly loved—the Rachel of his 

7 * 







142 


HANNAH. 


heart and home. Otherwise, there was 
nothing peculiar or remarkable in the quiet 
life of these dwellers among the mountains. 
Tracing their history, we seem returning 
to the patriarchal age—or rather looking 
in upon some “Cotter’s Saturday Night” 
in the Highlands of Scotland. Every year, 
he went with his family on a pilgrimage to 
Shiloh, near Bethel, where the Ark and 
Tabernacle gathered for sacrifice and wor¬ 
ship, the devout Hebrews from all their 
plains. Hannah was a meek and saintly 
woman, but Peninnah was vain and haugh¬ 
ty. Her jealousy was kindled by Elka- 
nah’s attention to his more amiable wife, 
and glorying in her offspring, treated scorn¬ 
fully her childless rival in his affections. 
This grieved Hannah’s sensitive spirit du¬ 
ring their lonely travel to Shiloh, and yearn¬ 
ing for the honor and joy of a mother, she 
would have knelt in her sorrow under the 


HANNAH. 


143 


very wings of the Cherubim overshadowing 
the Mercy Seat. 

Upon one of these annual visits, tempted 
and heart-broken, she wept till Elkanah 
touched by her tears endeavored to soothe 
her with assurances of his own deep affec¬ 
tion. Unlike the petulant Rachel, she ut¬ 
tered no reproach, but restraining her grief, 
lifted the gloom from his brow with a smile 
mournful as a gleam of sunshine on a solitary 
ruin. Then she sought the threshold of Je¬ 
hovah’s Temple, and bowed in silent prayer. 
The depths of her being were stirred, 
and wrestling with the Merciful One, she 
breathed a solemn vow that if a son were 
given her, he should be a consecrated child, 
and with the stern discipline of a Nazarine 
prepared for perpetual service in the Lord’s 
House. Responsive to her intense emotion, 
her quivering lips only moved. Eli who 
was sitting by the door-post of the Sanctu- 


144 


HANNAH. 


ary, marked her strange deportment, and 
hastily misjudging, accused her of drun¬ 
kenness. No murmur was heard from this 
resigned and humble worshiper, but in sad 
and melting accents, she said, “ No, my 
lord, I am a woman of sorrowful spirit; 
I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, 
hut have poured out my soul before God.” 
Eli was affected, and with altered tone re¬ 
plied, “ Go in peace : and the God of Israel 
grant thee thy petition thou hast asked of 
him.” Hannah felt that she had prevailed 
in prayer, and her countenance became tear¬ 
less and hopeful. When the morning broke 
on the hills, gilding the gorgeous Taberna¬ 
cle, the family arose and worshiped once 
more toward the symbols of the “ Upper 
Sanctuary,” and the flaming Law penciled 
on the tables of eternity ; then striking their 
tent, journeyed to Mount Ephraim. 

And a son was born, named by Hannah, 


HANNAH. 


145 


Samuel, asked of the Lord. I know not of 
a more sublime manifestation of faith and 
piety, than her refusal to go up to the year¬ 
ly festival until he was old enough to he left 
there , according to her vow, the living sa¬ 
crifice of an earnest and grateful heart. 
Her religious principle was unbending as 
Paul’s ages after, and the glory of God filled 
as vividly and constantly the horizon of her 
thoughts. 

She went at length to the Holy Temple, 
with an oblation from the flocks and fields. 
The priests laid a slain bullock upon the 
altar, and while the smoke ascended, she 
took from the bosom that cradled him with 
unutterable tenderness, the wondering babe 
and gave him to Eli, saying, we might be¬ 
lieve half in reproof, “ O my Lord, as thy 
soul liveth my lord, I am the woman that 
stood by thee here praying unto the Lord. 
For this child I prayed; and the Lord hath 


146 


HANNAH. 


given me my petition which I asked of him : 
Therefore also I have lent him to the Lord: 
as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the 
Lord.” The venerable priest accepted the 
consecration, and with a solemn benedic¬ 
tion devoted Samuel to the service of the 
Tabernacle. 

Then Hannah uttered a prayer, which is 
rather a lofty ascription of praise to the Al¬ 
mighty, whose sovereignty exalts the beg¬ 
gar, while he shivers the sceptre and sinks 
the throne of a king. Kindling with rap¬ 
ture she emulates Deborah in celebrating 
His majesty, till the poetic fire mounts like 
a seraph’s hymn to the unseen “ Holy of 
Holies.” Doubtless Eli understood keenly 
the allusion of that forceful expression, 
u The Lord is a God of knowledge, and by 
him actions are iceighed” 

This mother, upon whose history it is 
sweet to linger, is the first woman men- 


HANNAH. 


147 


tioned in the Bible kneeling in the attitude 
of prayer—not because others were prayer¬ 
less, but to fill out the delineation of ma¬ 
ternal character and duty, of which Han¬ 
nah is a model of singular excellence. She 
had the glow of enthusiasm and the com¬ 
posure under trial, of an intellect finely bal¬ 
anced, and disciplined by much communion 
with God. 

Samuel grew, and bore through all his 
illustrious career, the most distinguished of 
judges and honored of prophets, the impress 
of that moulding influence, continued in 
kind by the man of God, by whose side he 
trimmed the temple-lamps and read the 
mysterious tablets traced by the finger of 
the Eternal. 

Oh ! what power is lodged in a mother’s 
hand—what eloquence in her prayer, and 
what pathos in her tear! She can lead 
her child to the very gate of Paradise—and 


148 


HANNAH. 


pour into the golden censer waived by the 
Angel before the Majesty on High, the in¬ 
cense of her petition. Her tear will burn 
through life on the brow it baptized, and 
the pressure of her hand be felt when the 
world itself has become a vanished dream. 
And many in that day, when Christ shall 
“ come to make up his jewels,” will point 
to the deepening glory that spreads away 
to the Mount of God, and murmur— 

“ A mother’s holy prayer, 

A mother's hand and gentle tear 
Have led the wanderer there ! ” 



The mild administration of the Judges 
had passed away. The splendor of the re¬ 
gal period of the Hebrews had reached its 
meridian ; and the fame of Solomon attract¬ 
ed to his court a distinguished visitor— 
“ The Queen of the South.” 

The land of Sheba was the Happy Ara¬ 
bia of the ancients, and is the Sabaea and 
Araby the Blest of modern poets. The 
present name is Yemen. It is the south- 









150 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


western division of Arabia, and embraces 
an area equal to the whole of New Eng¬ 
land and New York. In contrast with the 
rest of Arabia, it has always been distin¬ 
guished for fertility, beauty, and mineral 
richness. Especially has it been famous 
for gums, perfumes, and spices. “ Neither,” 
says the sacred record, “ was there any 
such spice as the Queen of Sheba gave to 
Solomon;” and, in our own day, her coun¬ 
try is equally supreme in the excellence of 
its Mocha coffee. If the region was not 
the mine, its cities were, of old, the great 
marts also of precious stones and of gold, 
two hundred pounds of which were inclu¬ 
ded in the gift of the queen to the king of Is¬ 
rael. It abounds in the palm, orange, apricot 
and sycamore ; the hills are, and doubtless 
were, cultivated to their tops in terraces, 
and by means of artificial reservoirs; the 
valleys and water-courses are exceedingly 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


151 


luxuriant; the wilder parts are haunts of 
the antelope, gazelle, leopard, and tropical 
birds ; and, like all Arabia, it has always 
been the home of that “ living ship of the 
desert ”—the camel, and that “ glory of 
Arabia”—the horse. The adjacent seas 
are filled with superb shells ; and the Per¬ 
sian Gulf on the one hand furnishes the 
finest pearls, the Red Sea on the other the 
most beautiful corals of all the world. 

It was in this country, which, as Milton 
says, in his picture of Paradise, 

-“ To them who sail, 

Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 
Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow 
Sabean odors from the spicy shore 
Of Araby the blest 

—it was in this land, described in Lalla 
Rookh as the clime where 

-“ Glistening shells of ev’ry dye 

Upon the margin of the Red Sea lie; 

Each brilliant bird that wings the air, is seen;— 

Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between 




152 


aUEEN OF SHEBA* 


The crimson blossoms of the coral tree, 

In the warm isles of India’s sunny sea ; 

And those that under Araby’s soft sun, 

Build their high nests of budding cinnamon;” 

—it was in this kingdom, and in some pal¬ 
ace whose halls, and domes, and 

-“ towers, 

Were rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers,” 

that the Queen of Sheba, whose name is 
Balkis in the Arabian traditions, was born 
and grew, and was crowned with the sov¬ 
ereignty of Happy Arabia. 

No description of her person is given in 
the inspired history. It is enough to know 
that she belonged to a race that is regarded 
as supplying the “ primitive model form— 
the standard figure of the human family.” 
Baron de Larrey, surgeon-general of Napo¬ 
leon’s army in Egypt, said of the people of 
this same region—the east side of the Red 
Sea—“their physical structure is, in all 
respects, more perfect than that of Euro- 



QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


153 


peans; their figure robust and elegant; 
their intelligence proportionate to that phys¬ 
ical perfection.” Some of the glowing por¬ 
traitures in the Song of Solomon, indeed, 
are supposed to have been drawn from his 
fair and royal visitor, so that we may infer 
that she realized a modern bard’s picture 
of her later countrywomen : 

“Beautiful are the maids that glide 

On summer eves, through Yemen’s dales. 

And bright the glancing looks they hide 
Behind their sedan’s roseate veils.” 

But we have better proof that she had bet¬ 
ter qualities than beauty. It is one of the 
perfections of the Bible, that it compresses 
into a few words the whole biography and 
character of many individuals. Thus we 
are only told that Enoch “ walked with 
God, and was not; for God took him; ” 
and, in the Gospels, we hear of a poor wo¬ 
man who cast “ all her living” into the 


154 


aUEEN OF SHEBA. 


treasury. In these hints, we have, as it 
were, the entire history of a godly man, and 
of a poor, pious woman. So, in the brief 
notices of the visit of queen Balkis, her in¬ 
tellectual and moral traits are clearly inti¬ 
mated—her early life readily suggested. 
The whole case is conveyed in our Savior’s 
language: “ She came from the uttermost 
parts of the earth, to hear the wisdom of 
Solomon.” In the Book of Kings, are fur¬ 
ther data. We see her lively and para¬ 
mount interest in religion, when it is said, 
“ she heard of the fame of Solomon, con¬ 
cerning the name of the Lord ; ” her dispo¬ 
sition at once to recognize and worship the 
true God, in her words, “ Blessed be the 
Lord thy God, which delighted in thee, to 
set thee on the throne of Israel forever; 
because the Lord loved Israel forever, 
therefore made he thee king to do judgment 
and justice ”—the last words suggesting, al- 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 155 

so, her own upright character. Her pro¬ 
ficiency in knowledge is indicated in the 
confident purpose “ to prove” the wise man 
11 with hard questions.” Her frankness and 
earnest solicitude to learn, are evident from 
the declaration that “ she communed with 
him of all that was in her heart,” words 
that likewise discover to us her long, care¬ 
ful retention of subjects of enquiry. Her 
interest in household and architectural mat¬ 
ters, is recorded; and so candid and appre¬ 
ciative was she, that “ there was no more 
spirit in her.”. That she had too much 
sound sense to credit every floating report, 
is manifest from her refusal to believe the 
rumors of the king’s acts and wisdom, until 
her eyes had seen them ; that she was mod¬ 
estly disposed to acknowledge an error from 
her assurance that she had been mistaken ; 
that she found her highest happiness in 
mental and moral improvement, from her 


156 


&UEEN OF SHEBA. 


exclamation, “ Happy are thy men, happy 
these thy servants, who stand continually 
before thee, and that hear thy wisdom.” 
Happy thy servants !—in how slight esti¬ 
mation did she clearly hold all rank and so¬ 
cial position, when she thus envied the con¬ 
dition of menials who yet enjoyed so rare 
intellectual opportunities. And, to crown 
the whole delineation, the energy of her 
character is transcendently illustrated in 
the journey itself—a journey equivalent to 
a tour half around the globe, in these days; 
a journey of twelve hundred miles in a di¬ 
rect line, and much further in the winding 
course of travel; a journey over mountains, 
and unbridged rivers, and wide, trackless 
deserts, where the lion prowls, the scorpion 
stings, the simoon sweeps in scorching pow¬ 
er, clouds and pillars of sand threaten the 
traveler, and fierce robbers hover around 
him; a journey of tw T o months in going and 


GIUEEN OF SHEBA. 


157 


two in returning, and if made, as it pre¬ 
sumably was, in company with the mer¬ 
chant caravan that is known to have winter¬ 
ed in Sheba and spent the summers in Ca¬ 
naan, one that obliged her to be absent the 
greater part of a year from her dominions. 

It is pleasant to trace, in imagination, 
the ingenuous, thoughtful youth of the 
Arabian Queen, her enterprising maturity, 
the surprises and delights of her visit, and 
the benefits of it, resulting to her nation, 
after her return. She had been educated 
with royal care, in all the learning of her 
country; yet she felt that her education 
was not finished—that she had much to 
learn. Her mind was busy with higher 
themes than dress, amusements, daily news, 
and earthly love; her soul no longer slept in 
the animal life of the senses—of sights and 
sounds, however refined ; it had awakened 
to a deep feeling of, and a restless longing 


158 


Q.UEEN OF SHEBA. 


after, the True, the Good, the Beautiful, 
the Eternal. The crown, the sceptre, were 
hers, and she might have contented her¬ 
self with princely pomp, with display of 
authority, with woman’s alledged desire to 
rule; but this was not enough for her. 
The treasuries of the kingdom were hers, 
and she could command in profusion the 
pearls and corals of the sea, the gold of 
Africa, the jewels of India, the fine linen of 
Egypt, the purple of Tyre, the silks of Per¬ 
sia ; she might, like many others, have sat¬ 
isfied herself with costly raiment and equi¬ 
page ; but these were insufficient. Any 
eastern prince would have been made hap¬ 
py by her hand, and she could have at once 
retired into the seclusion of domestic deligh t, 
leaving the cares of state to her officers ; but 
no, she was conscious of higher objects of 
existence than merely to he well wedded— 
we say, to be so, for her enquiring mind is 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


159 


evidence of her youth, and the silence of 
sacred writ, under the circumstances, is 
proof that she was a virgin queen. And 
all the luxuries of the land and the delicacies 
of the sea, were at her disposal; yet she 
could not feed her immortal soul with the 
ashes of pleasure, nor expend her whole in¬ 
tellect in royal entertainments. It was not 
permitted her to dance, for to this day, the 
dignified orientals esteem that exercise ap¬ 
propriate only to slaves and hirelings ; but 
she could hire the waltzing maids of neigh¬ 
boring Abyssinia, with their tamborines 
and tinkling bells; yet she had a higher 
purpose of life than amusement, although, 
without doubt, she was as keenly sensible 
to the delights of music and motion, as was 
Coleridge in his dream, when, as he says, 

“ A damsel with a dulcimer 
In a vision once I saw ; 

It was an Abyssinian maid, 

And on her dulcimer she play'd, 

Singing of Mount Abora.” 


160 


Q,UEEN OF SHEBA. 


Queen Balkis could have further tried 
to slake her soul’s thirst with the roman¬ 
ces and legends that bloom so abundantly 
and gorgeously in the rich soil of Arabian 
imagination ; and perhaps she tried, and 
failed to satisfy herself with these. Last 
of all, from her many courtiers and officers 
and subjects, she could have drank in flat¬ 
tery, and lived on the breath of praise. 

After all, there was something awake and 
sleepless in her spirit. Those things in her 
heart, of which she afterwards communed 
with Solomon, were yet unexplained; the 
hard questions she subsequently put to him, 
were then unanswered. She felt her re¬ 
sponsibility as a ruler, and her duty to fulfdl 
her lofty sphere, and longed for wiser in¬ 
struction in law and equity and political 
economy, than she had yet received. She 
had heard vague reports of the western na¬ 
tions, especially of the miraculous progress 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


161 


of the Israelites, and she wished to hear of 
their history, and that of other kingdoms. 
She looked upon the various vegetation and 
animal life of the earth, and desired to lis¬ 
ten to some one who, like Solomon, could 
“ speak of trees, from the cedar that is in 
Lebanon even unto the hyssop that spring- 
eth out of the wall; and of beasts, and of 
fowl, and creeping things, and of fishes.” 
She gazed on the moon and stars, and felt 
that there was a higher wisdom to be drawn 
from them than the fancies of eastern astrol¬ 
ogy. She thought of life, and, to her, it 
was all a bewildering mystery; the per¬ 
petual questions stirred within her, From 
whence do I come ?—whither do I go ? 
And then she meditated on death and the 
dark unknown beyond, and doubted not 
there was something to be learned besides 
the sensual heaven of Arab poets, or the 
transmigration of the Egyptian and Hindoo. 


162 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


She pondered concerning the Powers that 
created and rule the world, and dreamed of 
a higher and holier Power than the genii 
and gnomes and fairies of oriental romance, 
or the gods of mythology. A quenchless 
flame of thought and feeling was lit in the 
warm heart and daring soul of Balkis, 
Queen of Araby the Blest. 

And now as a lively trade sprang up be¬ 
tween Jerusalem and Sheba, and caravans 
came and went, and the ships of Solomon 
sailed up and down the Red Sea, increasing 
information was diffused in Happy Arabia ; 
the sailors and merchants then, as now, 
brought to unknown regions, reports of their 
country, religion, and government. They 
were summoned to the presence of the 
queen, and spoke of the amazing wisdom 
and glory of their monarch, of their national 
history, and of the one true and holy Je¬ 
hovah. Perhaps, by some chance, they 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


163 


brought manuscripts of the books of Moses 
and of Solomon, and these deeply studied, 
fanned the curiosity of the queen, and en¬ 
lightened and enlarged her mind. How¬ 
ever it was, her decision was finally and 
resolutely formed. She knew the weari¬ 
some length and appalling dangers of the 
journey; but her determination was an¬ 
nounced ; the government was entrusted to 
the hands of her premier; the choicest 
gems, gold and spices were selected for her 
gifts ; her retinue of soldiers and servants 
equipped and mounted, and the march com¬ 
menced, the queen herself borne in a sedan, 
or throned in canopied shade on a camel, 
or, her clear olive face veiled from the trop¬ 
ical sun, she mounted her favorite Arab 
horse, and dashed forward in the van. 
Sixty nights, her pavilion was to be pitch¬ 
ed, and sixty mornings, to be struck again, 
before she reached her destination. 


164 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


She saw the verdure of her own elysian 
land disappear, and came upon the sterile 
soil of Hedjaz, or Stony Arabia, the Red 
Sea all the while lying upon the left, and 
porphyry Mountains on the right. After 
thirty days, she came to the halfway halt 
—the present Mecca, where, in those days, 
or soon after, stood a temple with three hun¬ 
dred and sixty images, now supplanted by 
the Kaaba of the Mahomitans. Then she 
passed the burning springs, surrounded 
with perpetual vegetation; next, the pre¬ 
sent Medina, now the place of the Prophet’s 
tomb, with its four hundred columns and 
three hundred lamps, constantly burning. 
In a few days, Mount Sinai and Horeb rose 
to view, and the sovereign gazed in wonder 
at their shadowy summits, recalling the 
rumor of their memorable scenes. Here, 
her company crossed the hills of Arabia, 
struck upon the barren desert, and passed 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


165 


Petra—the City of the Rocks, which then 
resounded with busy life, and stood in all its 
architectural freshness, not, as now, the 
haunt of the bat and serpent. At last, the 
Dead Sea was passed, the Jordan forded, 
the fields and vineyards of Canaan entered. 
How refreshing was the luxuriance of the 
land of milk and honey, after the dreary 
and fearful passage of the desert! The 
southern caravan came in the spring, and 
it was therefore late in the season when, in 
the familiar words of Solomon, “ the winter 
is past, the rain over and gone; the flowers 
appear on the earth ; the time of the sing¬ 
ing of birds is come, and the voice of the 
turtle dove is heard in the land. The fig- 
tree putteth forth her green figs, and the 
vines with the tender grape, give a good 
smell.” It is probable that the King went 
forth some distance to meet his royal visi¬ 
tor, and if so, it may explain the words in 
8 * 


166 


QUEEN OP SHEBA. 


his song: “ Who is this that cometh out of 
the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfu¬ 
med with myrrh and frankincense, with 
all powders of the merchant 7 ” 

Thus did the queen of the South come 
from the uttermost parts of the earth, to 
hear the wisdom of Solomon. She came 
to the Mount of Olives, and as she passed 
it by the same road so often traveled by our 
Saviour on his way to Bethany, the pros¬ 
pect of Jerusalem, throned on its hills, broke 
in beauty upon her sight. There, in full 
view, like a scene of magic, was the temple- 
front, its porch, or tower, rising two hun¬ 
dred feet above the top of Mount Sion; 
there were Solomon’s palace, the Queen’s 
palace, the house of the forest of Lebanon, 
the porch of judgment; and both temple 
and palace, porch and pinnacle, so glittering 
with gold, so studded with pillars, rich in 
carvings of cherubim, lions, palm-trees and 


aUEEN OF SHEBA. 


167 


flowers, varied with the purple, yellow and 
white of cedar and fir, that the whole re¬ 
sembled a scene which outrivals the gor¬ 
geous wealth of the east—a scene which 
this queen was never to behold—an Ameri¬ 
can forest in the splendors of October. 
Gazing at the glories of Mount Sion, she 
crossed the brook Kedron, and was received 
at the palace with royal honors. 

The main incidents during the visit are 
given in the sacred narratives. The high¬ 
born guest saw the arrangements of the 
palace; the royal table, to supply which 
for one day, required thirty oxen and two 
hundred sheep, besides deer and fowl; the 
two hundred targets, and three hundred 
shields, and various vessels, all of gold ; the 
ivory throne, with its twelve carved lions ; 
the thousand chariots and twelve thousand 
horsemen; the gardens of spikenard and 
saffron, pomegranates and cinnamon; the 


168 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


“ orchards planted with all kinds of fruit/’ 
and beautified with “ fountains and pools 
of water; ” and the massive stone walls, 
built up from the valleys to support the 
temple, some of the immense blocks re¬ 
maining to this day. She heard the singers 
and the “ musical instruments of all sorts.” 
To the temple, she was not admitted; but 
we are told that she saw the ascent by 
which the king went up thither; and, pos¬ 
sibly, through the gates and doors, she may 
have distantly seen the brazen sea, and the 
glory of the Lord, filling the holy place. 

Above all, she heard the wisdom of Sol¬ 
omon. From his own lips she heard some 
of those “ three thousand proverbs, and a 
thousand and five songs,” spoken of by the 
sacred writer. She put all her hard ques¬ 
tions—communed of all that was in her 
heart. Doubtless the conversation was not 
made up of wit and dalliance, and the com- 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


169 


pliments of courtesy; nor did they talk 
alone of fashion, idle news, and the weather. 
The king was not obliged to treat her as an 
unthinking being, but rather driven to ex¬ 
ert all his intellect to answer her enquiries 
into the great matters of law, history, sci¬ 
ence, and religion. Such a journey was 
not undertaken for nothing. The Redeemer 
has declared expressly that she “ came to 
hear wisdom ”—would that this was more 
often the object of travel and of conversation. 

How long she remained, is not stated. 
If, as already assumed, she came with the 
great merchant caravan, she may have staid 
two months in Canaan, and may have vis¬ 
ited other places. “ She turned, and went 
to her own country.” That her visit re¬ 
sulted in good to her nation, as well as to 
herself, we have some evidence. We find, 
from history, that one hundred and sixty- 
seven years before Christ, the patriotic and 


170 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


pious Maccabees propagated a pure religion 
more readily in Sheba than elsewhere, and 
that the people were morally superior to 
the rest of the Arabians. Thus, more than 
eight hundred years after the death of this 
queen, there was a happy state of things in 
her country, which, it is fair to suppose, 
originated in her wisdom, energy and piety. 
It is the crowning praise of this crowned 
woman, that, in all probability, she faith¬ 
fully discharged the high duties of her 
sphere, benevolently communicated her 
knowledge to her subjects, and fulfilled the 
mission of her life. 

Aside from her energy, the two grand 
features of the character of Q,ueen Balkis, 
as developed in the inspired history, are 
her mental activity and religious inclina¬ 
tion. Like the two immense columns of 
brass, ornamented with pomegranates and 
chain-work, that stood in front of Solomon’s 


QUEEN OF SHEBA. 


171 


temple, these intellectual and spiritual ten¬ 
dencies were the noble pillars of her char¬ 
acter, around which all her lighter graces 
of soul were wreathed. These capabilities, 
diligently cultivated, prepared her to fulfill 
the lofty purpose of her existence. And it 
is in the power of every high-minded wo¬ 
man to be a queen, and wield a sceptre of 
influence as potent as the literal sceptre of 
the sovereign of Happy Arabia. Nor has 
the young American woman now to come 
from the ends of the earth, to hear the wis¬ 
dom of the wise. All knowledge is within 
her reach, and she is raised to the dignity 
of the equal and companion of man. Nor 
is there any danger that, under a true cul¬ 
tivation, she will neglect more appropriate 
duties in higher aspirations. Woman’s 
sphere is just that circle of influence which 
she can fill without the neglect of her 
special offices, though it be a world blessed 


172 


GIUEEN OP SHEBA. 


by her benevolent aid, or instructed or de¬ 
lighted by her thought. And to fill this, 
her powers need not be obtrusively ex¬ 
erted; her authority, whether asserted or 
not, will be in exact proportion to her in¬ 
telligence and moral force of character; and 
a silent but powerful influence will neces¬ 
sarily go out from her, as the Arabian 
queen, perfumed with myrrh and frankin¬ 
cense and bearing costly spices, everywhere 
on her journey made the desert air rejoice 
in the balmy breath. 











Jezebel was a Sidonian princess of com¬ 
manding figure, vigorous intellect, and de¬ 
praved heart. Like Delilah, she was a vo¬ 
luptuary and an idolater. 

Ahab, king of Israel, a man of weak mind 
and utterly destitute of moral principle, 
from a motive of policy similar to that which 
controls matrimonial alliances among the 
sovereigns of Europe, or influenced by her 
personal attractions, made her his queen. 





174 


JEZEBEL. 


Her genius soon gave her the ascendency 
over him and in the cabinet of his king¬ 
dom. In the temples of Ashtaroth and 
Baal, she had bowed with the enthusiasm 
of a devotee. She kissed the hideous im¬ 
ages of her gods with burning lip, and 
breathed their names with the reverence 
and consecration of a martyr. And when 
she rode to the capital of Israel, and saw 
on the hills and house-tops no altars but 
those of the golden calves of Dan and Beth¬ 
el, symbolical of the Living God, with the 
silent energy of an independent spirit, con¬ 
scious of its power to rule, her purpose 
was formed to revolutionize the ancient re¬ 
ligion of the Hebrews, and in the very 
Tabernacle of the Shekinah, kindle the 
flame of sacrifice to the sun-god—Baal. 

The festivity and civic display attending 
her reception at court passed by, the accla¬ 
mations of the people ceased, and her work 


JEZEBEL. 


175 


was begun—this resolute propagandist of 
idolatry, who resembles Lady Macbeth in 
the great and revolting qualities of her char¬ 
acter, was imbued with the sentiment of 
the invocation of that illustrious homicide. 
_ 

-“ Gome, come, you spirits, 

That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 

And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full 
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, 

Stop up the access and passage to remorse; 

That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, or keep peace between 
The effect and it.” 

The prophets were the first victims of 
her malignant cruelty, and were slaughtered 
till only a hundred were left, who were 
concealed by the good Obadiah, governor 
of the royal household. From the fact that 
no more mention is made of them, it is evi¬ 
dent they were at length dragged forth by 
the executioners of her hostility to the wor¬ 
ship of Jehovah, although its celestial glory 
was already gone, and its hallowed rites 


176 


JEZEBEL. 


had given place to the forms of prevailing 
superstition. 

Elijah, gifted and fearless, was especially 
the object of Jezebel’s hatred. He lived 
awhile by the brook Cherith, near Jordan, 
a solitary hermit, mysteriously fed by ra¬ 
vens, till the approaching footsteps of the 
messengers of death periled his life. The 
Lord then sent him to the house of a poor 
widow in Zidon, whose table he miracu¬ 
lously supplied, and raised her only son 
from the dead. One day, when Obadiah, 
by the command of Ahab, was surveying 
the land to find a gushing spring or green 
spot for the flocks perishing in the famine 
with which God had cursed the nation, 
Elijah met him, and told him to inform the 
king of his abode. 

The monarch, goaded on by the unwast¬ 
ing zeal of the queen, went forth to slay 
his enemy. But the prophet hurled back 


JEZEBEL. 


177 


his bitter reproaches, until he stood pale 
and cowering beneath the eagle eye of his 
accuser ; and then proposed to go with him 
to Mount Carmel, where, in the presence 
of his pagan priesthood, the authority of 
Baal against that of God should be fairly 
and finally tested. Like the dark waves 
which clasp the summit they are submerg¬ 
ing, the thousands of Israel crowded up the 
lofty mountain to behold the scene—for 
fire from Heaven was to descend on the 
altar of the Lord, or his homage be trans¬ 
ferred forever to the idol of Jezebel. 

The four hundred and fifty priests erected 
their altar, and called on Baal till their 
cries were one wild shriek, and cut their 
flesh till the trenches ran with blood; but 
there came no consuming shaft from the 
skies—no voice of approval stilled the 
wailings of the frantic worshipers. Then 
Elijah built the despised altar of Jehovah, 


178 


JEZEBEL. 


laid the slain victim thereon, and flooding 
the whole with water, gathered the ex¬ 
cited throng around it. The god of the 
sun had given no answer but the steady 
blaze which withered the fields and made 
the starving millions living skeletons. Now 
in lonely majesty the hunted prophet knelt 
in prayer, “ and lo, fire from the cloudless 
heavens fell like falling lightning, and the 
bullock smoked amid the water that flooded 
it, and a swift vapor rose from the top of 
Garmel, and all was over.” Then arose 
the swelling shout, “ The Lord he is the 
God; Jehovah he is God ! ” The prophets 
of Baal were massacred in the valley be¬ 
low, turning the waters of Kishon into a 
crimson flood. The people dispersed in 
the silence of an unearthly fear, and Elijah 
went back to the brow of Carmel to pray 
for rain. 

While Ahab tarried for refreshment, the 


JEZEBEL. 


179 


march of the tempest came to the prophet’s 
listening ear, and he sent his servant to 
hasten the king’s flight to Jezreel. Elijah, 
strengthened by the might of the Lord, 
wrapped his mantle about him, and girded 
his loins, while the wrathful clouds black¬ 
ened above his dauntless form like a de¬ 
scending robe becoming his dignity, and 
ran before the foaming steeds of Ahab, to 
the gates of the city. 

He thought Jezebel could not fail to be¬ 
lieve now the king had bowed before the 
God of Israel, and been dazzled with the 
glance of his omniscient eye. She listened 
proudly and unmoved to the story of her 
trembling lord, then sent a messenger to 
Elijah, threatening with an oath, to mingle 
with the corpses of her priests, his own 
body, before the evening of another day. 
lie fled to Beersheba, and his unrelent¬ 
ing persecutor, bewailing the dead, effaced 


180 


JEZEBEL. 


with railery and scorn from the heart of 
Ahab, any impression the miracle may 
have made, chiding him till he was ready 
to sue for pardon, for his weakness on 
Mount Carmel. 

And soon after, when he wanted the vine¬ 
yard of Naboth, a citizen, to extend his 
gardens, but could not prevail on him to part 
with the ancestral possession, he went in 
tears to the palace, and throwing himself 
on his couch refused to eat. Jezebel heard 
his complaint, and gazing upon him with a 
glow of indignation, and the fierce passions 
of a tigress, she said contemptuously, “ Dost 
thou not govern the kingdom of Israel? 
Arise, and eat bread, and let thy heart be 
merry: I will give thee the vineyard of 
Naboth, the Jezreelite ” Faithful to her 
promise, she wrote letters in the name of 
Aliab, and with the royal seal, sent them 
to the elders of the city and the nobles, 


JEZEBEL. 


181 


commanding them to proclaim a fast, and 
arraign Naboth for blasphemy against 
“ God and the King.” False witnesses 
were suborned, and the mock trial soon 
closed. The victim was taken out of the 
city and stoned to death. The remorseless 
queen, then told the king to confiscate the 
vineyard, for the owner would trouble him 
no more. He went down accordingly, but 
while walking over the grounds, Elijah 
crossed his path, forewarning him of his 
death, on the very spot where Naboth died 
at the hands of a lawless mob. Conscience 
though it slumbered deeply, always awoke 
at the sound of Elijah’s voice—and he ex¬ 
claimed in blended anger and anguish, 
“Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?” 
Then followed a terrible prediction of the 
entire destruction of his family, and the 
tragical end of Jezebel. 

Ahab was fatally wounded not long after- 
9 


182 


JEZEBEL. 


wards in a battle with the Assyrians, and 
died ; the prophet ascended in a chariot of 
fire to glory, and his mantle with “ a double 
portion of his spirit,” fell on his companion 
Elisha, who was to be an actor in the last 
scene of this doomed dynasty. He annoint- 
ed Jehu, a captain in the army of the king, 
to execute the hastening vengeance of God. 
The host rallied around his standard, and 
blew their trumpets in joyful acclamation, 
while he led them on towards the walls of 
the capital. Meeting Joram son of Jezebel 
the reigning sovereign, and Ahaziah her 
grandson, king of Judah, who came forth 
in their alarm at the sight of that war-cloud, 
sweeping as on the wings of a hurricane 
along the hills, he pierced the former with 
an arrow, and throwing the body into the 
vineyard of Naboth, slew the other in his 
chariot, and dashed on to the open gate of 
Jezreel. The shouts of the populace, and 


JEZEBEL. 


183 


the rushing of chariot-wheels, reached the 
chamber of the queen. 

No time was demanded, no weeping for 
the slain disturbed her Satanic self-com¬ 
mand. Painting her face, and splendidly- 
attired, “ she looked out at the window,” 
and calling to Jehu, reminded him of the 
fate of Zimri the conspirator against Elah, 
who perished in the flames of the palace, 
his own hand kindled. Jehu looked up 
and cried to the eunuchs, “Who is on my 
side ? ” The quick reply was the descend¬ 
ing form of Jezebel, mangled on the project¬ 
ing wall, and sprinkling the horses with 
blood. He then drove over this dying 
daughter of a king, and queen of Israel, 
stern, sullen and daring to the last, till the 
hoofs of his steeds were red with tram¬ 
pled dead. 

Entering now the desolate palace-hall, 
he told the throng to go and “ see this curs- 


184 


JEZEBEL. 


ed woman, and bury her, for she is a 
king’s daughter.” But in accordance with 
prophecy, they found only the fragments of 
Jezebel’s body left by the dogs. Jehu 
continued his work of slaughter till the 
idolatrous race was extinct, and the dis¬ 
honor cast on the name of Jehovah, was 
wiped out with the blood of a whole gen¬ 
eration. 

Woman may be grateful for the seclusion 
that brings with it the culture of her sym¬ 
pathies and moral sensibilities ; and that 
she is excluded from manifold temptations 
that crowd the pathway of man, whose rest¬ 
less eye turns ever to the height, however 
distant, whereon stands the temple of Mars, 
Jupiter, or Mammon; inviting him to come 
with the sacrifice of principle and the hope 
of Heaven, and take 

“ The wreath of glory that shall burn 
And rend his temples in return” 


JEZEBEL. 


185 


For with the same opportunity and urgen¬ 
cy of motive, she would oftener enroll her 
name among the great, whose power blast¬ 
ed where it fell, and whose fame rose with 
the commission of gigantic crimes. 






' 




» . 




- 





* 




? 

































V 




































































The family of Ahab is among the most 
impressive illustrations in history, of ma¬ 
ternal influence for evil on the character of 
offspring. The nefarious Jezebel not only 
gave birth to Athaliah, but laid a shaping 
hand on her destiny; and evidently with a 
sibyl’s enthusiasm, opened before her youth¬ 
ful feet the very desensus Averni in the mys¬ 
teries of crime, hitherto unknown in royal 
annals. We have no biography of her 






188 


ATHALIAH. 


early years; her career of dissipation and 
bursts of passion while a maiden, with¬ 
in the magnificent walls of her father’s 
palace. 

The pious Jehosaphat, who reigned in 
Judah, strangely sought her hand for his 
son Jehoram. No other motive can be im¬ 
agined than the policy of kings, who live 
in jealousy or fear of each other. And 
when her husband, yet a youth, took the 
sceptre, she threw around him the magical 
power of her wiles, and put forth the 
guiding energy of genius—a force, which 
under the mad rule of passions, like the 
sun-chariot in Phseton’s hand, makes ever 
a brilliant, disastrous and brief career; and, 

“ Self-stung, self-deified,” 

is overtaken by the retributive thunder¬ 
bolt, at last. 

One after another, Jehoram’s five breth- 


ATHALIAH. 


189 


ren, who held posts of honor in the king¬ 
dom, and others of the nobility, disappeared 
suddenly under the assassin’s stroke, or 
poison administered by Athaliah, until he 
sat in solitary and sullen authority, on a 
throne behind which was “ a power greater 
than itself.” 

Naboth’s history had furnished a prece¬ 
dent the queen was not unwilling to follow, 
and the tragedies in both branches of an 
impious line, remind us of the Borgia fami¬ 
ly of modern history, who have written 
their names in blood, on the ecclesiastical 
and civil records of Italy. The king was 
smitten with disease, and after lingering for 
two years, till a loathsome spectacle to his 
friends, died, and left the crown to Ahaziah. 

This son, unlike his predecessor, was not 
involved in the suicidal war with a con¬ 
science made tender by the piety of a fa¬ 
ther, but with pliant docility listening to 

9 * 


190 


ATHALIAH. 


the dark counsels of Athaliah, was striding 
onward in power that spared neither Jew¬ 
ish altar nor the form of a rival, when, du¬ 
ring a visit to Joram, he was slain at Je¬ 
hu’s command, and the retinue that es¬ 
corted him to Jezreel. 

This gradual extinction of her family 
did not move the lion heart of Athaliah. 
She resolved, with demoniac ambition, to 
strew around the summit of dreaded pre¬ 
eminence, the slain 11 seed royal,” from the 
infant to the manliest youth; and firmly 
hold a sceptre dripping with the life cur¬ 
rent of her own household. The order 
was given, and, as she thought, the massa¬ 
cre complete, and, a gloomy despot, she 
could repose upon a throne whose shadow 
would terrify, while the sword that guarded 
it would cut for her a pathway whither a 
sublimely desperate will might guide her 
footsteps. 


ATHALIAH. 


191 


But she had a daughter, not yet insensi¬ 
ble to human helplessness and the voice of 
love. Among the bodies of her brother’s 
sons, which lay heaped together for inter¬ 
ment, Jehosheba discovered the infant Jo- 
ash, gasping for life, and secretly conveyed 
him to her chamber. For six years the 
child was hidden, and Athaliah reigned 
without a rival in the holy city. 

At the expiration of that period, Jelioi- 
ada the priest, observing that the people 
were ripe for revolution, conferred with the 
centurions, captains and guards, and obtain¬ 
ing from them an oath of fidelity to his 
cause, showed them Joash in the house of 
the Lord. They had supposed the royal 
line extinct, and when they looked on the 
boy, who returned their caressing with 
shrinking wonder, old associations were 
revived, and many a veteran, who remem¬ 
bered the glorious days departed long ago, 


192 


ATHALIAH. 


felt the quickening pulsations of slumbering 
loyalty, and hsi brow began to glow w T itli 
an enthusiasm which seemed to have van¬ 
ished forever. 

The venerable priest then stationed the 
battalions at the principal gates of the Tem¬ 
ple, and around the king, who stood in the 
bloom of his boyhood, half unconscious what 
all this preparation meant, encircled by a 
wall of men and gleaming weapons. Pla¬ 
cing the crown upon his head, and the law 
of God in his hand, he poured on that fair 
forehead, the anointing-oil. Then the mul¬ 
titude “ clapped their hands, and said, God 
save the king! ” till the arches of the sa¬ 
cred edifice, echoed back the acclamation, 
and the lofty columns rocked before the 
steady tramp of thousands, rushing to this 
scene of coronation. 

The jubilant trumpets, and the deepen¬ 
ing shouts caught the ear of Athaliah, and 


ATHALIAH. 


193 


she hastened to the house of God. When 
she saw the splendid array and the surging 
waves of excited men, and the youth 
crowned in the midst of them, while “ God 
save the king ” rolled in a deafening chorus 
to the swell of trumpet blasts, her fallen 
glance read the truth that sealed her doom 
—and as a last struggle, she rent her flowing 
robes, and shouted, 11 Treason! Treason! ” 
But none flew to the rescue of the fran¬ 
tic queen. “ Have her forth,” cried Jehoi- 
ada, “ without the ranges; and him that 
followeth her, kill with the sword.” The 
command was obeyed, and her body lay in 
the highway to the palace, trodden in the 
soil by the horsemen, who but a few hours 
before quailed before her eye of flame. 
Mother and daughter, alike in unblushing 
impiety which vaulted to the stars, perished 
equally wretched in their hurried and hope¬ 
less departure from a world they made 


194 


ATHALIAH. 


more desolate, to an abode where Justice 
completes his work. 

To what a towering greatness in guilt the 
intelligent creatures of God may attain! 
Those whom poets call angels, and who 
may be so amid the suffering 

“ On life’s broad field of battle,” 

become syrens on the shoals of ruin, or 
quaff with a smile of glorying the wine- 
cup of unmingled depravity. 

And through all the history of the He¬ 
brew nation, the lesson is enforced Jehovah 
taught by the prophet, “ In my wrath I 
gave them a king ”—as if monarchy were 
a dernier resort when the dignity of self- 
government was gone, and His image so 
nearly effaced from free intelligences, the 
sovereignty is insufficient, which, “ like the 
atmosphere we breathe, is felt only by re¬ 
sistance.” 



The reflective reader of Scripture feels 
perhaps more deeply than the most logical 
array of argument, the inherent evidence of 
its inspiration. There is a singular and 
unequaled impartiality in its developments 
of character. Amid the atrocious adven¬ 
tures of kings, and the conspiracies of sub¬ 
jects—idolatry, war and pestilence—are ex¬ 
hibitions of unblemished authority, pure de¬ 
votion, and glimpses of domestic fidelity and 









196 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


joy, which stamp the narrative with the seal 
of a faithful record. True to all experience 
is the picture drawn by the Holy Ghost, of 
earth and the immortal dwellers upon its 
surface. While that affirms a perfect crea¬ 
tion and disastrous ruin, every observant eye 
beholds on all sides, strewn the fragments 

“ Of a temple once complete.” 

It was during the reign of Ahab, that the 
Shunamite, whose name with the “ poor 
widow’s ” is unknown, left by her philan¬ 
thropic deeds an imperishable memorial of 
her virtues. 

Shunem was a city in the valley of Es- 
drelon, whose extensive plains were the 
scene of the most fearful conflicts in Jewish 
warfare, till its soil was moistened with 
blood ; and the billows of waving grain, as 
on the field of Waterloo in modern time, 
told where the ridges of the dead had 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


197 


mouldered. Before this wealthy town, 
Saul encamped with his army on the eve 
of his last great battle. 

It was, therefore, often the asylum of 
wounded and dying warriors of bordering 
nations ; and its inhabitants had every op¬ 
portunity for the exercise of mercy and 
kindness to the suffering. Among those 
who sought occasion for doing good, in the 
expansive spirit of pure benevolence, was 
a woman of fortune and influence. She 
met Elisha one day on his way to Mount 
Carmel, and gave him a pressing invitation 
to share the hospitality of her dwelling. 

He accepted, and during the interview, 
there was awakened a religious sympathy 
and friendship, which continued ever after. 
In his travels through Shunem, he made 
her house his home. 

Observing that the man of God was medi¬ 
tative and spiritual, with the consent of her 


198 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


husband, she furnished a little chamber ex¬ 
pressly for his accommodation. By an ori¬ 
ental seat, she placed a lamp that would 
burn all night; still a custom in the east 
when a guest is received with flattering at¬ 
tention. An English traveler not many 
years ago was thus entertained at the house 
of a Jew in Asia Minor. 

That cheerful seclusion became dear to 
Elisha; and his raptures while prophetic 
visions made its walls a diorama of the fu¬ 
ture, will be known only, 

“ When pictured on the eternal wall , 

The past shall reappear.” 

It was after a day of weariness of frame 
and of heart, he reached at eventide his fa¬ 
vorite attic. The Shunamite heard his foot¬ 
steps, and supplied his table, anticipating 
with wakeful interest all his wants. The 
next morning, contemplating her unweari¬ 
ed kindness, he was touched by the recol- 


THE SHUNAMITE. 199 

lection of so disinterested love towards a 
homeless seer, and told his faithful servant 
to call her. He enquired what he could do 
for her in return. 

The miracles he had wrought, made him 
a favorite at the royal court, and he offered 
to use his influence with the king and the 
captain of his host, in her behalf. He 
doubtless referred to an honorable position 
in the palace, or military aid and glory if 
desired, for her husband. 

The reply displays her beautiful con¬ 
tentment with retirement— 11 1 dwell among 
my people; ” the cordialities of social life and 
the amenities of home, were all within the 
bright circle, ambition had drawn on “ the 
sands of time.” Thwarted in his purpose, 
Elisha consulted Gehazi, who suggested 
that no offspring beguiled the hours of the 
lonely Shunamite. He knew how the hope 
of forming at least a link in the lineage of 


200 


THE SHUNAM1TE. 


the Messiah, to a Jewish wife, made a 
childless marriage doubly desolate. The 
prophet again sent for her, and moved 
by the unerring spirit, promised her a 
son. In the rush of emotion the announce¬ 
ment excited, and feeling the improbabil¬ 
ity of the event, she entreated Elisha not 
to mock her tears, for that hope had with¬ 
ered long ago. 

He calmed her agitation, and renewed 
the promise. The child was born and grew 
up an idol by her side. Upon a summer 
day, he rambled into the harvest fields, 
where his father was at work with the 
reapers. His pastime among the sheaves, 
and his blithesome laugh, made the old man 
forgetful of his toil. Often pausing over 
the gathered grain, he watched the lad, 
while a smile passed like a gleam of light 
over his tranquil features. 

But the sun blazed in a cloudless sky, 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


201 


and beat on that tender brow, till it drooped 
as a stricken flower. Ilis brain was on fire 
with pain, and pressing his forehead with 
his little hands, he looked into his father’s 
face and cried piteously, “ My head, my 
head.” He was carried to his mother, but 
nothing could revive his sinking form or 
retain the suffering spirit. At noontide he 
laid his head, like a wounded bird nestling 
under the maternal wing, upon her bleed¬ 
ing bosom, and died. She gazed awhile on 
the expressionless eye, and the face yet 
beautiful, over which the death-pallor was 
stealing, and then her thoughts flew to the 
man of God. 

She went to Elisha’s chamber, laid the 
corpse on his bed, closing the door gently, 
as if she might disturb that strange slumber, 
requested her husband to send immediately 
a young man and an ass. But he had given 
up for burial his dead boy, and thought her 


202 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


frantic grief had shaped this wild purpose of 
finding the prophet. With surprising self- 
command, she replied, “It shall be well,” 
and vaulting into the saddle, bade her at¬ 
tendant to drive the animal to the top of 
his speed. 

Elisha was on the summit of Carmel—- 
the highest promontory on the coast of Pal¬ 
estine. It is mantled with foliage from its 
crown of whispering pines and lofty oaks, to 
the olive and laurel girdling its slopes with 
fruit and evergreen. Adown its sides, a 
multitude of crystal streams, dance be¬ 
neath interlocking boughs, to the sweeping 
Kishon, marching to the blue Mediterra¬ 
nean. It has a thousand caves , which have 
ever been the abode of prophet, recluse and 
monk. From its top, the view of the bay 
of Acre, with its fruitful shores—the blue 
peaks of Lebanon, and the White Cape, is 
enchanting. 


THE SHUNAMITE. 203 

The seer was looking off on this land¬ 
scape spreading away on every side, in 
which the grand and picturesque view min¬ 
gled in endless variety, and waiting for reve¬ 
lations from the fearful dome above to a be¬ 
wildered world, when he beheld in the haze 
of a distant vale the hastening Shunamite. 
He told Gehazi to go down and meet her, 
and enquire if it were well with her family. 
With tearful resignation, she answered, u It 
is ivell ,” and pressed upward to the eminence 
where Elisha sat. The servant deeming 
her an irreverent intruder on the hallowed 
solitude, held her back, till at Elisha’s com¬ 
mand, she was suffered to clasp his robe in 
anguish. 

God, for some reason, had not informed 
the prophet of that domestic calamity.— 
With what delicacy and force she made 
known her affliction—said nothing of the 
child’s sickness and death, but reminded 


204 


THE SHUN AMITE. 


him that when she desired the blessing it 
was with a request that he would not de¬ 
ceive her—as if it were more cruel than 
neglect, to press the cup of joy to her lips, 
and dash it aside—to relight the star of 
hope upon her solitary way, then blot it 
out forever. 

Elisha understood the sad import of the 
appeal, and bade Gehaza go and lay his 
staff upon the face of the sleeper. But a 
mother was not so put off. She clung to 
Elisha, saying, “As the Lord liveth, and 
as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee! 11 
The servant, proud of the honor, ran and 
laid the staff on the dead—but there was 
no stirring amid the chords of the pulseless 
frame—no voice answered to his call. 

The prophet entered the chamber alone, 
“ and shut the door upon the twain—the 
living and the dead. He knelt in prayer, 
then rose and stretched himself on the body. 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


205 


Warmth returned faintly, and in his men¬ 
tal agitation, he strode with hurried step 
through the silent apartments of that house 
of mourning. Once more he embraced the 
corpse, and the luminous eye opened sweet¬ 
ly upon him, as when he turned in hither 
for reposing from the dust of travel, and 
met upon the threshold the laughing boy. 
The Shunamite was called, and when she 
saw again the wonted smile, and heard 
again the music of a harp that seemed 
unstrung forever, utterance was not equal 
to her full heart, and she sank at Eli¬ 
sha’s feet. Then taking up her son with 
a clasping energy of fondness, none could 
know, unless like her they emerged from 
the shadows of the tomb, snatching from 
death’s skeleton hand a loved one, she has¬ 
tened to her husband ; and Elisha went on 
his prophetic mission. 

Years after, famine drove the Shunamite 
10 


206 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


to a foreign land. When she came back, 
her possessions were gone, strangers had ef¬ 
faced her title, and she was penniless. Just 
at this point of despair, Gehazi was conver¬ 
sing with the king respecting Elisha’s mir¬ 
acles, and particularly the restoration of 
the dead in Shunem. When the houseless 
widow was proved by that servant to be 
the same for whom the marvelous deed 
was done, the monarch sent officers to re¬ 
store her fortune; rendering at last, through 
the prophet’s popularity, the aid he appre¬ 
hended she might need, when his gratitude 
was struggling to find expression. 

Here we have the history of another 
noble mother, to whom the honor of God 
in daily life, and in the gift of offspring, was 
the central thought—the sublime principle 
of action, and sustaining power beneath the 
beatings of the storm that darkened her 
future. 


THE SHUNAMITE. 


207 


And so God takes care of his trusting 
ones, who hold on to his extended hand 
when the surges rise, and the heavens are 
wild with the meeting clouds. It is then he 
often whispers peace, and the gloom is bro¬ 
ken by gushing radiance from the rifted 
folds of the tempest—and the melody of a 
purer sphere fills the sky arching lovingly 
life’s slumbering sea. 


























' 
















. 






. p . ♦. 

















































































The greatest events in human history 
awaken the least interest, because of their 
11 quiet might.” Men look at startling re¬ 
sults, but lose sight of the sublime force of 
a cause which attracted no eye hut God’s. 
They behold the flying timbers and flaming 
ruins of a conflagration, but forget that the 
fearful power was concealed in a flying 
spark. A noble mind is wrecked, and many 
weep, but do not know that the blast which 




210 


ESTHER. 


stranded the bark, was once the gentle 
breath of maternal influence, unhallowed 
by piety. So the splendid career of a hero 
and patriot, like Mordacai, Moses, or Wash¬ 
ington, is less glorious than the simple de¬ 
cision made amid the conflicting emotions 
of youthful aspiration, to honor God and 
serve a struggling country. 

Jehovah illustrates this principle in all 
his administration. What to Elijah on the 
solemn mount was the sweep of the hurri¬ 
cane, rending the cliffs and tossing rocks 
like withered leaves in air—the thunder of 
the earthquake’s march—the blinding glow 
of the mantling flame—compared to the 
“ still small voice ” that thrilled on his ear, 
so full of God ! It is not strange that there 
is to be a reckoning for “idle words ” even, 
for they have shaken the world, and their 
echo will never die away. 

The story of Esther, without an allu- 


ESTHER. 


211 


sion to the fact, is a most beautiful illustra¬ 
tion of this shaping of destiny by the inter¬ 
pretation of particular providence, in the 
commonest incidents of life. His church is 
saved from extinction, by events which ap¬ 
pear accidental, and might not have hap¬ 
pened for any thing we can trace. The 
whole book is like a transparency hung be¬ 
fore the pavilion of the Almighty, through 
which his counsels shine, and his unerring 
hand is visible. 

Esther lived quietly with her kinsman 
Mordecai, who remained in Persia, when 
many of the captive Jews, during the reign of 
Cyrus, returned to their own land. Ahash- 
uerus the king, to commemorate his victo¬ 
ries and prosperous administration, extend¬ 
ing from India to Ethiopia, and embracing a 
hundred and twenty-seven provinces, made 
a magnificent festival which continued six 
months. This was to display his power 


212 


ESTHER. 


and wealth, before the nobility of his realm, 
and representatives from the conquered 
provinces of his spreading empire. At the 
expiration of this brilliant entertainment, 
he gave the common people, without dis¬ 
tinction, a feast of seven days, in the court 
of his palace. The rich canopy and gor¬ 
geous curtains, with their fastenings—the 
tall columns, the golden couches, and tes- 
selated floors—are described as “ white, 
green and blue hangings, fastened with 
cords of fine linen and purple to silver 
rings, and pillars of marble: the beds were 
of gold and silver, upon a pavement of red, 
and blue, and black, and white marble.” 

Of this grandeur, in the ashes strewn by 
wasting ages, are imposing remains. Mod¬ 
ern travelers pause before “ the vast, soli¬ 
tary, mutilated columns of the magnificent 
colonades,” where youth and beauty graced 
the harems of Persian monarchs. 


ESTHER. 


213 


Upon this occasion, the queen had a pri¬ 
vate pavilion for her female guests. But 
during the successive days of dissipation, 
the mirth waxed loud in the apartments of 
the king. The flashing goblet circulated 
freely, and his brain became wild with 
u wine and wassail.” As the crowning 
display of his glory, Vashti in her jeweled 
robes and diadem, must grace the banquet. 
The command was issued, and the messen¬ 
ger sent. This mandate, requiring what at 
any time was contrary to custom, the ap¬ 
pearance of woman, unveiled, in an as¬ 
semblage of men, now when revelry and 
riot betrayed the royal intoxication, over¬ 
whelmed the queen with surprise. A 
thousand wondering and beaming eyes were 
upon her, during the brief pause before an¬ 
swering the summons. Her proud refusal 
to appear, roused the fury of Ahashuerus, 

already mad with excitement. It would 

10 * 


214 


ESTHER. 


not answer to pass by the indignity, for a 
hundred and twenty-seven provinces were 
represented at his court, and the news of 
his sullied honor would reach every dwel- 
ing in his realm, and curl the lip of the serf 
with scorn. The nobles fanned the flame 
of his indignation. Unless a withering re¬ 
buke were administered, their authority as 
husbands would be gone, and the caprice of 
woman make every family a scene of daily 
revolution. 

Vashti was divorced—and to provide for 
the emergency, his courtiers suggested that 
he should collect in his harem, all the 
beautiful virgins of the land, and choose 
him a wife. Among these was Hadassah, 
the adopted daughter of Mordecai. He 
urged her to enter her name among the 
rivals for kingly favor. It was not ambi¬ 
tion merely that moved Mordecai. He had 
been meditating upon the unfolding provi- 


ESTHER. 


215 


dence of God toward his scattered nation, 
and felt that there was deeper meaning in 
passing events than the pleasures and anger 
of his sovereign. Arrayed richly as circum¬ 
stances would permit, the beautiful Jewess 
concealing her lineage, joined the youthful 
procession that entered the audience cham¬ 
ber of Ahashuerus, where he sat in state, 
to look along the rank of female beauty, 
floating like a vision before him. 

The character of Esther is here exhibited 
at the outset; for when she went into the 
presence of the king, for his inspection, 
instead of asking for gifts as allowed by 
him, and as the others did, she took only 
what the chamberlain gave her. Of exqui¬ 
site form and faultless features, her rare 
beauty at once captivated the king, and he 
made her his wife. 

Mordecai always reminds one of Hamlet. 
Of a noble heart, grand intellect, and un- 


216 


ESTHER. 


wavering integrity, there was nevertheless 
an air of severity about him—a haughty 
unbending spirit; which with his high sense 
of honor, and scorn of meanness, w T ould 
prompt him to lead an isolated life. I have 
sometimes thought that even he had not 
been able to resist the fascinations of his 
young and beautiful cousin, and that the ef¬ 
fort to conceal his feelings had given a great¬ 
er severity to his manner than he naturally 
possessed. Too noble, however, to sacrifice 
such a beautiful being by uniting her fate 
with his own, when a throne was offered her; 
or perceiving that the lovely and gentle being 
he had seen ripen into faultless woman-hood, 
could never return his love—indeed could 
cherish no feeling but that of a fond daugh¬ 
ter, he crushed by his strong will his fruit¬ 
less passion. In no other way can I account 
for the life he led, lingering forever around 
the palace gates, where now and then he 


ESTHER. 


217 


might get a glimpse of her who had been 
the light of his soul, the one bright bird 
which had cheered his exile’s home. That 
home he wished no longer to see, and day 
after day he took his old station at the gates 
of Shushan, and looked upon the magnifi¬ 
cent walls that divided him from all that 
had made life desirable. It seems also as 
if some latent fear that Haman, the favorite 
of the king—younger than his master and of 
vast ambition, might attempt to exert too 
great an influence over his cousin, must 
have prompted him to treat the latter with 
disrespect, and refuse him that homage 
which was his due. No reason is given for 
the hostility he manifested, and which he 
must have known would end in his own 
destruction. Whenever Haman with his 
retinue came from the palace, all paid him 
the reverence due to the king’s favorite but 
Mordecai, who sat like a statue, not even 


218 


ESTHER. 


turning his head to notice him. He acted 
like one tired of life, and at length succeeded 
in arousing the deadly hostility of the haugh¬ 
ty minister. The latter however, scorning 
to be revenged on one man, and he a person 
of low birth, persuaded the king to decree 
the slaughter of all the Jews in his realm. 
The news fell like a thunderbolt on Mor- 
decai. Sullen, proud, and indifferent to his 
own fate, he had defied his enemy to do his 
worst; but such a savage vengeance had ne¬ 
ver entered his mind. It was too late how¬ 
ever to regret his behavior. Right or wrong 
he had been the cause of the bloody sen¬ 
tence, and he roused himself to avert the 
awful catastrophe. With rent garments, 
and sackcloth on his head, he traveled the 
city with a loud and bitter cry, and his voice 
rang even over the w T alls of the palace, in 
tones that startled its slumbering inmates. 

It was told Esther, and she ordered gar- 


ESTHER. 


219 


merits to be given him, but he refused to re¬ 
ceive them, and sent back a copy of the 
king’s decree, respecting the massacre of 
the Jews, and bade her go in, and supplicate 
him to remit the sentence. She replied 
that it was certain death to enter the king’s 
presence unbidden, unless he chose to hold 
out his sceptre; and that for a whole month 
he had not requested to see her. Her stern 
cousin, however, unmoved by the danger to 
herself, and thinking only of his people, re¬ 
plied haughtily that she might do as she 
chose—if she preferred to save herself, de¬ 
livery would come to the Jews from some 
other quarter, but she should die; 

From this moment the character of Es¬ 
ther unfolds itself. It was only a passing 
weakness that prompted her to put in a 
word for her own life, and she at once rose 
to the dignity of a martyr. The blood of 
the proud and heroic Mordecai flowed in her 


220 


ESTHER. 


veins, and she said, “ Go, tell my cousin to 
assemble all the Jews in Shushan, and fast 
three days and three nights, neither eating 
nor drinking; I and my maidens will do the 
same, and on the third day I will go before 
the king, and if I perish , / perish .’ 11 Noble 
and brave heart! death—a violent death is 
terrible, but thou art equal to it! 

There, in that magnificent apartment, fill¬ 
ed with perfume,—and where the softened 
light, stealing through the gorgeous windows 
by day, and shed from golden lamps by 
night on marble columns and golden-cover¬ 
ed couches makes a scene of enchantment, 
—behold Esther, with her royal apparel 
thrown aside, kneeling on the tesselated 
floor. There she has been two days and 
nights, neither eating nor drinking, while 
hunger, and thirst, and mental agony, have 
made fearful inroads on her beauty. Her 
cheeks are sunken and haggard—her large 


ESTHER. 


221 


and lustrous eyes dim with weeping, and her 
lips parched and dry, yet ever moving in in¬ 
ward prayer. Mental and physical suffer¬ 
ing have crushed her young heart within 
her, and now the hour of her destiny is ap¬ 
proaching. Ah ! who can tell the despe¬ 
rate effort it required to prepare for that 
terrible interview. Never before did it be¬ 
come her to look so fascinating as then; 
and removing with tremulous anxiety the 
traces of her suffering, she decked herself in 
the most becoming apparel she could select. 
Her long black tresses were never before so 
carefully braided over her polished forehead, 
and never before did she put forth such an 
effort to enhance every charm, and make 
her beauty irresistible to the king. At 
length, fully arrayed and looking more like 
a goddess dropped from the clouds, than a 
being of clay, she stole tremblingly towards 
the king’s chamber. Stopping a moment at 


222 


ESTHER. 


the threshold to swallow down the choking 
sensation that almost suffocated her, and to 
gather her failing strength, she passed slow¬ 
ly into the room, while her maidens stood 
breathless without, listening, and waiting 
with the intensest anxiety the issue. Hear¬ 
ing a slight rustling, the king, with a sudden 
frown, looked up to see who was so sick 
of life as to dare to come unbidden in his 
presence, and lo! Esther stood speechless 
before him. Her long fastings and watch¬ 
ings had taken the color from her cheeks, 
but had given a greater transparency in its 
place, and as she stood, half shrinking, with 
the shadow of profound melancholy on her 
pallid, but indescribably beautiful counte¬ 
nance her penciled brow slightly contracted 
in the intensity of her excitement—her long 
lashes dripping in tears, and lips trembling 
with agitation; she was—though silent—in 
herself an appeal that a heart of stone could 


ESTHER. 


223 


not resist. The monarch gazed long and 
silently on her, as she stood waiting her 
doom. Shall she die ? No; the golden 
sceptre slowly rises and points to her. The 
beautiful intruder is welcome, and sinks 
like a snow-wreath at his feet. Never be¬ 
fore did the monarch gaze on such trans¬ 
cendent loveliness; and spell-bound and 
conquered by it he said in a gentle voice : 
“ What wilt thou, Queen Esther ? What 
is thy request ? it shall be granted thee, 
even to the half of my kingdom! ” 

Woman-like, she did not wish to risk the 
influence she had suddenly gained, by ask¬ 
ing the destruction of his favorite, and the 
reversion of his unalterable decree, and so 
she prayed only that he and Haman might 
banquet with her the next day. She had 
thrown her fetters over him, and was deter¬ 
mined to fascinate him still more deeply be¬ 
fore she ventured on so bold a movement. 


224 


ESTHER. 


At the banquet he again asked her what 
she desired, for he well knew that it was 
no ordinary matter that had induced her to 
peril her life by entering unbidden, his pres¬ 
ence. She invited him to a second feast, 
and at that to a third. But the night pre¬ 
vious to the last, the king could not sleep, 
and after tossing awhile on his troubled 
couch, he called for the record of the court, 
and there found that Mordecai had a short 
time before informed him through the queen, 
of an attempt to assassinate him, and no re¬ 
ward been bestowed. The next day, there¬ 
fore, he made Haman perform the humili¬ 
ating office of leading his enemy in triumph 
through the streets, proclaiming before him, 
u This is the man whom the king delighteth 
to honor.” As he passed by the gallows 
he had the day before erected for that very 
man, a shudder crept through his frame, and 
the first omen of coming evil cast its shadow 
on his spirit. 


ESTHER. 


225 


The way was now clear to Esther, and 
so the next day, at the banquet, as the king 
repeated his former offer, she, reclining on 
the couch, her chiseled form and ravishing 
beauty inflaming the ardent monarch with 
love and desire, said in pleading accents, “ I 
ask, O king, for my life , and that of my peo¬ 
ple. If we had all been sold as bondmen 
and bondwomen, I had held my tongue, 
great as the evil would have been to thee.” 
The king started, as if stung by an adder, 
and with a brow dark as wrath, and a voice 
that sent Haman to his feet, exclaimed : 
“ Thy life ! my queen ? Who is he ? where 
is he that dare even think such a thought 
in his heart ? ” He who strikes at thy life, 
radiant creature, plants his presumptuous 
blow on his monarch’s bosom. “ That man,” 
said the lovely pleader, “ is the wicked Ha¬ 
man” Darting one look of vengeance on 
the petrified favorite, he strode forth into 


226 


ESTHER. 


the garden to control his boiling passions. 
Haman saw at once that his only hope now 
was, in moving the sympathies of the queen 
in his behalf; and approaching her, he be¬ 
gan to plead most piteously for his life. In 
his agony he fell on the couch where she 
lay, and while in this position, the king re¬ 
turned. “ What! ” he exclaimed, “ will he 
violate the queen here in my own palace! ” 
Nothing more was said: no order was giv¬ 
en. The look and voice of terrible wrath 
in which this was said, were sufficient. 
The attendants simply spread a cloth over 
Haman’s face, and not a word was spoken. 
Those who came in, when they saw the cov¬ 
ered countenance, knew the import. It was 
the sentence of death. The vaulting favor¬ 
ite himself dare not remove it—he must die , 
and the quicker the agony is over, the bet¬ 
ter. In a few hours he was swinging on 
the gallows he had erected for Mordecai. 


ESTHER. 


227 


After this, the queen’s power was su¬ 
preme—every thing she asked was granted. 
To please her, he let his palace flow in the 
blood of five hundred of his subjects, whom 
the Jews slew in self-defence. For her he 
hung Haman’s ten sons on the gallows 
where the father had suffered before them. 
For her he made Mordecai prime minister, 
and lavished boundless favors on the hither¬ 
to oppressed Hebrews. And right worthy 
was she of all he did for her. Lovely in 
character as she was in person, her sudden 
elevation did not make her vain, nor her 
power haughty. The same gentle, pure 
and noble creature when queen, as when 
living in the lowly habitation of her cousin 
—generous, disinterested, and ready to die 
for others, she is one of the loveliest char¬ 
acters furnished in the annals of history. 

After Esther, in the changing fortunes of 
Israel, till the Saviour’s advent, but little 


228 


ESTHER. 


reference is made to woman. The wife of 
Job, unsubdued by the terrible calamity 
that swept away her fortune and children, 
was his temple in the darkest hour of his 
affliction. David, in his Psalms of surpri¬ 
sing sweetness and sublimity, alludes to the 
virtues of <£ mothers in Israel”—and Sol¬ 
omon graphically delineates the charac¬ 
ter of the wife who “ is from God.” The 
prophets, in their lofty strains of predic¬ 
tion, and warning, and encouragement, make 
mention of her mission in coming scenes— 
her sufferings in national distress, when off¬ 
spring shall clasp their parental knees in the 
agony of famine, “ and pour out their soul 
in their mother’s bosom.” With rapture 
they follow her angel form in the rising glory 
of Zion—the mystery of redemption, and 
the approaching peace of millennial rest, 
when the harmonies of earth shall blend 
once more with the melodies of Heaven ! 



From the single promise that sent a ray 
of hope through the gloom of man’s forsa¬ 
ken spirit in paradise, falling as the return¬ 
ing smile of God on nature reeling under his 
curse to the last message of a dying prophet, 
the whole tide of events converged toward 
a grand consummation; a full manifestation 
of the grace which suspended the penalty 
of violated law. “ God put forth his agen¬ 
cies and calmly waited four thousand years 
ll 








230 


ELIZABETH. 


for the accomplishment of his designs of 
mercy.” 

It was a faint spreading of dawn that 
cheered the pathway of Eve; but the in¬ 
creasing radiance gilded the horizon of Pal¬ 
estine, bathing the heights on which the 
seers bowed in rapture, till last of all Mala- 
chi poured forth his impassioned eloquence 
against Israel, and slept with his fathers. 

Then followed four hundred years of 
trial and struggle; the people could only 
look back on the long track of wandering, 
rebuke and concentrating light pointing on¬ 
ward to a future whose shadows were lift¬ 
ing, and thus become able to bear the com¬ 
ing sun, and welcome its illumination. 

Among those who were expecting a sub¬ 
lime manifestation of love in the advent of 
Messiah, was Zacharias, a venerable priest 
at Jerusalem, whose wife, a descendant of 
Aaron, was a woman of elevated piety. 


ELIZABETH. 


231 


They were now aged and childless. One 
evening as the fading light burnished the 
temple-columns, and streamed through the 
lofty windows upon the Mercy Seat, the 
Cherubim overshadowing it, and the golden 
altar, he passed thoughtfully through the 
multitude that crowded the gates of the 
sacred structure. His form disappeared in 
the Holy Place, and arrayed in his sacerdo¬ 
tal robes, he stood before the altar of incense, 
while the throng pressed into the porch 
to worship. Their prayer arose like the 
murmur of the ocean, but he was all alone by 
the flame of sacrifice, interceding for them. 
Suddenly he heard the rustling of wings, 
and on the oblation there came a glow more 
intense than the fire of his offering, and by 
his side he beheld an angel of the Lord in 
white apparel, with his face of celestial 
beauty beaming full upon him. He was 
troubled, and trembling with alarm would 


232 


ELIZABETH. 


have shrunk away from the presence of 
Gabriel, but the tones of his gentle voice 
dispelled the rising fear, and he restored the 
calmness of faith. He listened with doubt¬ 
ing surprise to the tidings, “ Thy wife Eli¬ 
zabeth, shall bear thee a son.” Ah! he had 
prayed for the blessing in former years, and 
cherished the hope until it turned to ashes 
in his sad heart, while Elizabeth had made 
supplication till prayer seemed a mockery. 
He could not believe without a miraculous 
token, and this was added. But it was as 
though the offending lips were smitten by 
an unseen hand, for the angel left him speech¬ 
less, and returned to the throne of God. 

Zacharias turned away from the dying 
flame of his offering, and waiving his hand 
to the people who had wondered at his 
long absence, went in silence to his dwel¬ 
ling. Elizabeth could not doubt the fulfill¬ 
ment of a promise which was expressed 


ELIZABETH. 


233 


in tears and voiceless sighs, themselves a 
warning, not to limit the power of the In¬ 
finite One. 

And then it was her pleasant employment 
to beguile the loneliness of her husband, 
who for her sake wore the seal of divine 
displeasure with cheerful piety, and affec¬ 
tion which flamed with new and gathering 
strength in the deeper channel of maternal 
solicitude for a son connected with whose 
birth was “ so exceeding great and precious 
promises.” 

But the scenes of that home are unre¬ 
corded, excepting a visit from her cousin 
Mary, the mother of Christ; an interview 
inexpressibly solemn and touching. The 
Holy Ghost was the companion of Eliza¬ 
beth, and Mary carried a treasure which 
was the theme of ceaseless hallelujahs in 
Heaven. There was no j ealously, no glory¬ 
ing but in the Lord. 


234 


ELIZABETH. 


The salutation which welcomed the vir¬ 
gin indicates both humility of spirit and the 
strength of natural love ; “ And whence is 
it that the mother of my Lord should come 
to me'!” Mary replied in a devotional 
rhapsody, to Him who “ putteth down the 
mighty in their seats, and exalteth them of 
low degree.” Three months were passed 
in delightful companionship. Their long 
conversations concerning “ the consolation 
of Israel ”—their hours of prayer around 
the domestic altar—their deep study of 
prophecy with the mute and subdued Zach- 
arias, have no place in the memorials of 
earth; for none cared for these while tran¬ 
spiring in the “ hill country of Juda.” 

The streets of Jerusalem echoed the 
tramp of Roman soldiery, and the haughty 
Pharisees swept the pavement with their 
phylactered robes of ceremonial sanctity. 
The busy world moved thoughtlessly on 


ELIZABETH. 


235 


around these solitary women, while angels 
were on the wing for their protection, and 
if their safety required it, a chariot of fire 
would have descended to the green summits 
that girded the city. At length Mary 
sought again the retirement of her own habi¬ 
tation, and Elizabeth gave birth to a son. 
Amid the rejoicings of friends, the child 
was named Zacharias after his father. His 
mother insisted on calling him John, accor¬ 
ding to Gabriel's command. The matter 
was then referred to the aged and silent 
priest who was looking on ; and he wrote 
with a stile on the waxen table, “ He shall 
be called John.” The people were amazed 
at this deviation from national custom. 
While gazing enquiringly upon him, his 
speech was restored, and he praised God 
until his humble dwelling seemed bursting 
with the swelling anthem. Then followed 
a burning strain of prophecy running from 


236 


ELIZABETH. 


the earliest predictions of Messiah, to the 
gathering of the Gentiles under his glory, 
mounting upward to “ the rest which re¬ 
mains for the people of God.” 

The boyhood of John is mentioned no far¬ 
ther than that “ he grew and waxed strong 
in spirit,” but beneath his supernatural en¬ 
dowments and the greatness of his heraldic 
career, the maternal influence is clearly dis¬ 
cernible in his lofty character. It is tracea¬ 
ble as the waters of a stream by the lines of 
their coloring, long after they have entered 
the sea. We need no farther testimony that 
he neither had nor needed the angel of tra¬ 
dition to guard his early slumbers and guide 
his juvenile feet, than the saintly and gifted 
Elizabeth. He repeated the sentiments 
and nearly the language of that mother 
when he saw the majestic form of Jesus ap¬ 
proaching him for baptism—“ comest thou 
to me 'l ” Her joy as a mother was lost in 


ELIZABETH. 


237 


that his sacred mission, as the Saviour’s 
herald awakened; so John exclaimed when 
he saw and listened to Christ, “ This my 
joy is fulfilled.” 

In all his ministry, it is beautifully mani¬ 
fest “ that this 1 burning and shining light ’ 
was kindled under the maternal wing at 
Hebron, as well as fanned into brilliancy 
by the wings of inspiration in the wilder¬ 
ness, that it might be a herald-star of the 

Son of Righteousness.” 

11 * 














































* 




















■ ' 






























































* 















Gabriel figures so conspicuously in ce¬ 
lestial vision, that the mind naturally takes 
the impression, he is a favorite angel in 
the embassage of Heaven to earth. He ap¬ 
peared twice to Daniel—talked with Zach- 
arias while engaged in the temple ser¬ 
vice at evening, and not long afterward, 
“ was sent from God to a city of Galilee, 
named Nazareth , 77 to Mary. When he en¬ 
tered her lonely dwelling, he shouted in the 




240 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


transport of his own full heart, “ Hail thou 
that art highly favored, the Lord is with 
thee : blessed art thou among women! ” 
That bright form, and the startling saluta¬ 
tion excited her fears, and she waited trem¬ 
blingly for a farther disclosure. “Fear 
not Mary,” broke the silence and suspense 
of the scene, and in glowing language he 
announced to her the honor which could be 
given to but one woman in the universe— 
that of becoming the mother of “ the Lord 
of Glory, the Prince of peace,” in his hu¬ 
manity. 

And here Mary forms a sublime contrast 
with Sarah and even the good old Zacha- 
rias, when visited by angels. There was 
no utterance of unbelief, no smile of incre¬ 
dulity, although there seemed to be an im¬ 
possibility of fulfillment, without sinking 
hopelessly her reputation, and perhaps her 
untimely removal to a grave of infamy. 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


241 


For she was betrothed to Joseph, a worthy 
young man, and the appearance of infidelity 
would alienate him and expose her to the 
penalty of violated Law. Her sensitive 
spirit simply enquired “ How shall this 
be ?” and Gabriel replied, “ The Holy Ghost 
shall come upon thee, and the power of the 
Highest shall overshadow thee, and the 
holy thing which shall be born of thee shall 
be called the Son of God: For with God 
nothing shall he impossible .” All was yet 
folded in mystery—like one entering the 
“ dark valley,” she could lean alone on the 
Almighty, and walk trustingly under the 
cover of his wings. 

Never in Heaven or in time, was there 
sweeter resignation—a more hopeful conse¬ 
cration amid unexplained difficulties, deep 
as human degradation, and wonders rising 
like vast shadows to the “ clouds and dark¬ 
ness that environ the Throne.” Fixing 


242 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


her gentle eye on the angel, she said, “ Be¬ 
hold the handmaid of the Lord; be it 
unto me according to thy word.” There 
was a solemn stillness of that maiden’s 
heart, and a thrill of unutterable joy when 
the struggle was over, and she felt that her 
destiny was so nearly linked with the pre¬ 
dicted Messiah. And as Gabriel departed 
from her for the skies, his last look toward 
the kneeling virgin, must have been full of 
tenderness, and admiring love. We know 
not the interest and the high converse in 
glory as often as the messenger re-entered 
the unfolding gates, and repeated to the ser¬ 
aphim the story of his mission—then swept 
his lyre, and sang “ Allelujah ! ” But 
what a murmur of wonder, and strange 
suspense passed over that throng, when 
their King laid down his sceptre, and his 
crown, and putting off the unsullied robes 
he had worn before a worshiper bowed at 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


243 


his feet, deserted the burning Throne for 
the form of Mary, and the helplessness of 
infancy in a world of enemies, and of gloom. 

Mary was bewildered with the strange 
and crowding events of her hitherto quiet 
life in Nazareth, and turned for sympathy 
to her cousin Elizabeth, who was mature in 
holy experience, and, as the angel had said, 
soon to be the mother of Messiah’s gifted 
herald—breaking the silence of centuries 
by the “ voice of one crying in the wilder¬ 
ness, prepare ye the way of the Lord! ” 
She received a joyful welcome—and the 
months passed on, to those humble dwel¬ 
lers in Hebron, with the solemn march of 
ages—for four thousand years flung their 
light and shadow upon them ; they closed 
the long drama of preparation, and opened 
upon the world the glories of a new life, 
“ and immortality.” 

And now came Joseph’s trial. When he 


244 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


perceived that Mary would be a mother, 
his first thought was to set aside the en¬ 
gagement, and leave her without exposure, 
to seclusion. But while hesitating amid the 
conflicting emotions exerted by his affection 
which clung to apparently an unworthy ob¬ 
ject, and his honor involved in the result, 
Gabriel came to him in his restless slum¬ 
bers and bade him dismiss his fears, and as 
a son of David, in accordance with proph¬ 
ecy, become the reputed father of Emanuel. 
Joseph arose from his repose, and with re¬ 
stored confidence and love, sought Mary 
and made her his wife. 

Here the infidel may curl his impious 
lip, and in the affected majesty of reason 
and purity, lift his hand to blot out the hope 
of a weeping world; but not until he can 
stay the woeful rages of sin, hush the cry 
of the soul for a Redeemer, and offer rest to 
the weary and sorrowing, can he mantle 


THE VIRGIN MARV. 


245 


with shame these touching miracles, that 
heralded the advent of u God manifest in 
the flesh.” 

11 Actions are the glorious oratory of 
God! ” and he speaks more eloquently and 
loudly in the incidents on which he hinges 
his designs, than in the roll of all his gath¬ 
ered thunders, or the roar of ocean rising 
in wrath at his whisper. 

The Roman Emperor Augustus, just at 
this time , after a delay of twenty years, com¬ 
manded that a census of the population of 
his vast empire be taken, and “ each person 
be enrolled in the chief city of his family or 
tribe.” This edict sent Mary and her hus¬ 
band to Bethlehem, the capital of the Da- 
vidic family. 

Upon their arrival, the inns were full, 
and no place offered them but a manger , 
among the beasts of the stall. The night 
came down, and the hum of the little city 


246 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


ceased—the money-changers slept in their 
goodly dwellings, and even the shelterless 
found rest beneath the mild sky of Judea. 
Peace brooded over the earth from whose 
bosom contending armies had retired—the 
preparatory work was finished ;—the still 
hour of midnight came on, and the friend¬ 
less Mary gave birth to a Saviour ! 

On the slopes of surrounding hills, shep¬ 
herds kept the nightly watch of their folded 
flocks. They sat in musing mood, or ga¬ 
zing at the flashing spheres above, when 
the air grew luminous about them, and an 
Angel swept down the starry road in a flood 
of radiance that streamed from the opening 
sky, till the green pastures glowed like the 
very pavement of Heaven, and the faces 
of those watchers were white as marble, 
while they shook like Belteshazzar before 
the mystic hand that wrote his doom. 

This angel, doubtless Gabriel, who said 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


247 


to Mary, “ Fear not,” with the same lan¬ 
guage broke the silence, and with the 
“ Good tidings of great joy ” upon his lips, 
pointing to Bethlehem which lay in the 
shadow of distance, told the wondering 
shepherds they would “ Find the babe 
wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying 
in a manger.” Then suddenly a multitude 
of the heavenly host thronged the illumined 
sky, and poured their melody along the hills 
until they took up the swelling anthem and 
sent it back to the “ Eternal City,” and 
then again with the new notes of gratula- 
tion the song of jubilee rolled down upon 
the brightening summits. 

It is not strange, that the sinless choir 
who had sung together with “ the morning 
stars ” when the world hung in unmarred 
perfection, in the dawn of creation, and 
who walked in the beautiful garden—who 
held their harps in sadness when the form 


248 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


of God darkened upon the sphere, he pro¬ 
nounced “ very good,” and his curse with¬ 
ered even the flowers upon its scathed and 
riven bosom, while the centuries wore 
away amid tears and blasphemy ; that they 
should strain every string, and in their lof¬ 
tiest harmonies, lift the hallelujahs “ Glory 
to God in the highest, and on earth, peace 
and good will toward men.” 

Those glittering ranks returned to Para¬ 
dise, and the melody died away on the ear 
of the shepherds hastening to Bethlehem. 
They bent adoringly over the child, and re¬ 
peated the burden of that song. Mary, medi¬ 
tative and retiring, silently pondered the mar¬ 
velous sayings that flew with the morning 
light from lip to lip of the gathering crowd. 
She named the infant Jesus, and according 
to the Mosaic ritual, passed the days of sym¬ 
bolical purification and went up to the Tem¬ 
ple with her sacrifice of turtle-doves. Here 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


249 


she found aged Simeon, waiting for “ the 
consolation of Israel,” and filled with the 
Holy Ghost, he took the babe in his arms, 
and raising his fading eyes toward Heaven 
he “ blessed God, and said, Lord now lettest 
thou thy servant depart in peace.” 

He spoke of the Saviour’s mission in a 
higher sense than Joseph or Mary could 
understand, and turning to her, alluded to 
“ the contradiction of sinners,” that Son 
would endure, and to his fearful martyr¬ 
dom, in words although dimly apprehended, 
that must have conveyed a mournful mean¬ 
ing to her anxious heart, u Yea a sword 
shall pierce through thy soul also.” Anna, 
a prophetess eighty years old, also came in 
and joined Simeon in his devout occupa¬ 
tion. And the infant Christ understood it 
all, and needing not the homage of men or 
of angels, he permitted Mary to caress him 
as fondly as ever a mother clasped the trea- 


250 


the virgin Mary. 


sure of offspring to her breast. “ One would 
like if he could, to lift the veil that hangs 
over the experience of Mary ; and to learn 
of her who had the maternal care and guid¬ 
ance of the holy child Jesus ; and to know 
what was the precise complexion of that 
moral dawn, which preceded the pure and 
perfect effulgence that shone forth on the 
history of his riper years; and to be told 
how richly all her tenderness was repaid, by 
smiles more lovely than ever before played 
on the infant countenance, and in his hours 
of anguish by such calm and unruffled se¬ 
rene as not one cry of impatience, and one 
moment of fretfulness ever broke in upon.” 

During the stay at Bethlehem, the magi, 
led by a star, journeyed from the East to 
Jerusalem, enquiring for the Messiah, of 
whose predicted appearance they had heard 
from traveling Jews. Thence visiting the 
infant Saviour, they offered with their horn- 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


251 


age, the frankincense of Araby, and gifts 
of gold. Disregarding Herod’s command to 
bring him word if Christ were found, they 
returned by another way. Herod, a san¬ 
guinary and heartless tyrant, was enraged 
at the insult, and commanded the slaughter 
of innocents, to destroy the future “ King of 
the Jews.” Oh ! who can tell Mary’s grief 
as their wail fell on h er ear, and her agony of 
fear while flying from the dripping sword, 
to a strange land 1 

Upon the death of the royal infanticide, 
the hunted family retired again to Naza¬ 
reth, their old place of residence. There 
Mary lived quietly, while Jesus grew up to 
youth, “ waxing strong in spirit, and filled 
with wisdom.” And who can doubt that 
in his humanity under the training of so 
pure a mother, whose intellectual power 
was exhibited in her splendid magnificat 
when she met Elizabeth, he was regarded as 


252 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


a rare example of early piety, and that mo¬ 
ther was the more admired and loved for the 
Son’s sake. His manner always amiable— 
his language never breathing an unhallowed 
thought, or wayward impulse, or even the 
lenity of juvenile pastimes, could not fail 
to impress his companions, and win their 
warmest affection, and the admiration of 
the Nazarines who frequented the lowly 
habitation of Joseph. When he was twelve 
years old, the family went according to na¬ 
tional custom, to the Holy City to keep the 
annual festi val of the Passover. They wor¬ 
shiped with wonted solemnity, and offered 
their oblations. 

Returning in company with others to 
their own country, they had journeyed all 
day from Jerusalem without missing the 
Saviour, who unobserved went back to the 
Temple. The parents were troubled, and 
hastened to seek for the lost one in the 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


253 


streets of the crowded city. After three 
days of fruitless effort, at last they entered 
the consecrated edifice, where lingered the 
proud Pharisee, and the strangers w T ho came 
to admire the splendid sanctuary of the 
Most High. And there, in the midst of ven¬ 
erable doctors, with the open Law and 
Prophets before them, sat Jesus, silencing 
their wise interpretations, by his greater 
wisdom. The sight amazed his weary 
and anxious parents, to whom there evi¬ 
dently seemed a change in his docile nature, 
distinguished for obedience, which ever be¬ 
fore anticipated their request. There is a 
tone of rebuke in Mary’s questioning, which 
has all the fullness of a mother’s love— 
11 Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us ? 
behold thy father and I have sought thee 
sorrowing.” His reply was the first hint 
of Divine commission and Deity to them 
—“Wist ye not that I must go about 


254 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


my Father's business ? ” This was above 
their comprehension, for they had regarded 
him simply as Messiah—appointed by Je¬ 
hovah, and committed to their care for the 
deliverance from Roman dominion, of their 
captive nation. 

But Mary was deeply and devoutly con¬ 
templative. Jesus went with them to Naz¬ 
areth, and was again a beautiful example 
of subjection, while she dwelt in earnest 
thought, upon the import of his words, and 
the God-like spirituality of his life. In the 
maturity of youth, he entered on his work, 
but did not forget his mother. And soon 
after, we find them with the disciples at a 
marriage festival in Cana, where the Sa¬ 
viour evidently mingled with his friends in 
the cheerful intercourse of such an occasion. 

From some oversight or want of means, 
there was no wine for the guests. Mary 
had witnessed miracles enough to know 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


255 


his word could supply them—and calling 
him aside suggested the exercise of his pow¬ 
er. His answer to the superficial readers 
of the narration seems harsh—“Woman, 
what have I to do with thee, mine hour is 
not yet come.” But the form of address 
was common, and perfectly respectful. It 
is as if he had said, while his beaming eye 
and benign countenance were eloquent with 
affection, “ Mother, why anticipate and di¬ 
rect in my designs—I know my mission 
and every step of its fulfillment.” Mary 
evidently became weary of travel in follow¬ 
ing her Son, and would have him retire 
from his public activity; for while he was in 
the synagogue at Capernaum, she waited 
at the door, while a messenger called him. 
The result of the entreaty is not recorded, 
but he tenderly employed the incident to 
express his higher and living union with his 
people—that relation which should abide, 


256 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


when human associations have vanished, 
and “ earth, like a pebble, is sunk in the 
ocean of a past eternity.” 

She was in the train that accompanied 
the Saviour to Jerusalem, before his mar¬ 
tyrdom—but all unconscious of the weight 
of sorrow under which his mighty heart 
was sinking. 

We do not know where she was when 
the stars looked down upon his wrestling 
in Gethsemane, while the crimson dew of 
his agony started from every pore—when 
he received unresistingly the traitor’s kiss, 
and high-priest’s buffeting—when in the 
hall, where justice was a mockery, and in¬ 
sult the sentence of condemnation—and 
when he bore up the rugged summit the 
instrument of torture, till crushed by its 
weight—but we find that mother beside the 
Cross, while the warm blood was gushing 
from the sacred form she cradled in infancy, 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


257 


and without a cheering voice, he trod the 
wine-press of his Father’s wrath. She be¬ 
held the drooping head—the brow wrung 
with anguish, and the quivering lips. She 
listened to the cry, while hell was in sus¬ 
pense, and Heaven bent with wonder over 
the scene, “ My God ! My God ! why hast 
thou forsaken me 7 ” 

Mary could offer no relief, and her ma¬ 
ternal solicitude would not permit a with¬ 
drawal from the Mount of Crucifixion. 
Oh ! the suffering of that loving spirit, when 
not only her Son was expiring in unuttera¬ 
ble agonies, but the hope of his followers, 
was going out in rayless midnight. By her 
side was the youthful John, sympathizing 
with his Master, and weeping with Mary. 
The eye of the Sufferer, though the penalty 
of eternal Law was tearing its way through 
his sinless bosom, and he sustained alone 
a world’s redemption, rested upon her he 


258 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


loved before he took up his abode with her; 
and pointing to John, he said with dying 
affection, “ Woman, behold thy Son !” 

Those accents and that last look express¬ 
ed it all. It was saying amid the throes of 
agony unknown to man, “ My mother, I 
must leave you, but he shall cheer your 
mournful years—give him my place as son, 
in your holy love.” Turning to the Belov¬ 
ed Disciple, he said, “ Behold thy mother!” 
It would seem from the words “ that very 
hour,” that John immediately obeyed, and 
induced her to leave the scene of deepening 
and accumulating horrors. 

Who could fathom her grief when she 
heard of that death amid taunts and sneers, 
the rocking earth and blackening skies ; 
and finally of his unattended burial. And 
oh ! how her drooping spirit smiled out 
through tears of joy, when the news of his 
resurrection spread, and once more she be¬ 
held the immaculate Jesus! 


/ 


THE VIRGIN MARY. 


259 


We next hear of Mary when returning 
from Mount Olivet, from whose shining top 
the Saviour ascended to the Throne of his 
Glory in a chariot of cloud, the disciples 
joined the circle of prayer in the “ upper 
room” at Jerusalem. She was there be¬ 
fore the Mercy Seat, drawn thither by the 
clearer rays of Divinity from the Son of 
God , that taught her how to pray. 

That Mary was a maiden of remarkable 
loveliness, is inferable from her selection by 
Jehovah as the mother of his “ Only begot¬ 
ten and well-beloved Son.” Her maternal 
character is without a blemish ;— u Blessed 
art thou among women ! ” is the epitaph 
every devout heart would inscribe on her 
tomb. 





















. 

' 





Turning from the scenes and biography 
of the Old Dispensation to those of the New, 
is like going from a planet where moonlight 
only brightened on the landscape, forest and 
flood; where mysterious shadows swept 
along the rustling woods of the mountain¬ 
side, and strange voices haunted the air, and 
where even the noblest characters were in¬ 
vested with a romantic interest; to a sphere 

where the glad light of morning floods the 
12 * 




262 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


plains, and the clear accents of truth and 
hope greet the ear, while rejoicing woman 
leaning on the beating heart of man, her brow 
calm and beautiful in the dignity of a faith 
which looks steadily into the portal of a 
better life, breathes a sympathy warm and 
gushing for the sorrows of a common hu¬ 
manity. 

Christ poured this new effulgence on the 
paths of men, and taught a philanthropy 
expansive as his own infinite benevolence. 
The Divinity of the Redeemer was veiled 
in a nature that could sympathize with all 
that was lovely, tender, joyous, or mourn¬ 
ful, in the fallen ones he came to save. 
Though sinless, he was a man of sorrows, 
and found those in the circle of his follow¬ 
ers, with whom he enjoyed that near attach¬ 
ment, and familiar interchange of thought 
and feeling peculiar to the intimacies and 
fellowship of kindred spirits. 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


263 


The family of Bethany, Martha, Mary, 
and Lazarus, an only brother, were among 
those cherished friends of the Saviour.— 
They were evidently orphans, and all deep¬ 
ly devout. He often sat at their table, and 
communed with them in the unchecked 
gushings of his great and oft over-burdened 
heart. While pursuing his ministry in the 
region about Jerusalem, not unfrequently 
after the toil and travel of the day, the scorn 
of enemies, and misunderstanding of doubt¬ 
ing disciples, he sought this peaceful home, 
to refresh his drooping spirit with the cheer¬ 
ing cordialities of friendship, pure as it was 
changeless. There, looking upon Olivet, in 
whose solemn shades he was wont to pray, 
and with doomed Salem, whose far off 
murmur was heard by him, pressing upon 
his soul, he sat at the twilight hour, while 
they washed his weary feet, and bathed his 
throbbing temples. And then with an eye 


264 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


radiant as a star, and a smile of unearthly 
sweetness, he discoursed to them of his 
works of mercy, and his glorious kingdom, 
destined to restore to earth her primal bles¬ 
sedness and peace. 

It was well they had not a full disclosure 
of his ineffable majesty, for they could not 
in their awful reverence, have admitted him 
into all the secrecies of personal regard, and 
leaned on his breast in unshrinking trust. 
Oh ! what a guest was Immanuel! The 
Wonderful, the Counsellor—the Almighty, 
bestowing the fullness of his love on the 
creatures of his power, and opening to them 
the depths of his infinite heart. 

The first domestic scene narrated, illus¬ 
trates the contrast of character in the two 
sisters. The Saviour had accepted the 
invitation of the elder sister, Martha, to 
become an inmate of their humble dwel¬ 
ling. She was active and impulsive, ma- 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


265 


king haste to spread a repast worthy of her 
Lord. Mary, thoughtful and enquiring, sat 
at the feet of Christ to hear his “ gracious 
words,” forgetful of the domestic duties 
which absorbed Martha’s attention. She 
was of calmer temperament, and would 
have made a recluse of elevated, devotional 
spirit—one of that saintly few, whose souls 
are “ as when the waters of a lake are suf¬ 
fered to deposit their feculence, and to be¬ 
come as pure as the ether itself; so that 
they not only reflect from their surface the 
splendor of Heaven, but allow the curious 
eye to gaze delighted upon the decorated 
grottos and sparkling caverns of the depth 
beneath.” 

She was riveted to her seat by the ac¬ 
cents of Him who “spake as never man 
spake.” Martha was touched by this neg¬ 
lect, and in her sudden irritation, reproached 
Jesus for permitting her to cast the entire 


266 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


burden of household cares upon another. 
Oh ! there is the mildness and majesty of a 
God in the kind reproof:—“ Martha, Mar¬ 
tha, thou art careful and troubled about 
many things ; but one thing is needful; and 
Mary hath chosen that good part which 
shall not be taken from her.” 

But that domestic group soon after passed 
under the cloud of affliction. The brother, 
their dependence and constant companion, 
was smitten down by disease, and wasting 
before its ravages, while Jesus was far away 
preaching to the multitudes of Bethabara. 
Therefore the sisters sent unto him saying : 
“ Lord, behold he whom thou lovest is sick.” 

Though he knew it all before the mes¬ 
senger came, and was a deeply interested 
spectator of that distant chamber of suffer¬ 
ing, he did not hasten hither, but tarried 
two days longer. In this way he always 
answers prayer—he takes his own time, 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


267 


and though he may seem to disappoint, he 
sends the blessing just when it will accom¬ 
plish the highest good for the petitioner, and 
advance his own glory. Accompanied by 
his disciples, who marveled at his strange 
language concerning the now departed Laz¬ 
arus, for whose sake he was about to expose 
himself to the rage of his foes, the Saviour 
journeyed toward Bethany. Soon as Mar¬ 
tha heard of his approach, she went forth 
in her tears to meet him, while Mary in her 
excessive grief, sat in the desolate dwelling, 
unconscious of passing scenes, and unheed¬ 
ing the footsteps of those who came to fling 
a ray of comfort athwart the gloom of be¬ 
reavement. 

In this touching incident, is again devel¬ 
oped the differing shades of character in 
these lovely maidens. The quiet earnest¬ 
ness of Mary, makes her a mourner of 
inapproachable and sublime sorrow—like 


268 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


a monument, solemn and voiceless, bear¬ 
ing only the inscription of the dead on its 
breast. She was one who felt that 

“With silence only as their benediction, 

God’s angels come 

Where, in the shadow of a great affliction 
The soul sits dumb ! ” 

But Martha, with hurried step, sought 
the highway Jesus was traveling, and look¬ 
ing into his placid face, with the comming¬ 
ling emotions of sorrow over blasted hope, 
and unabated affection, she said, “ If thou 
hadst been here, my brother had not died.” 
He replied with a tone of authority, “ Thy 
brother shall rise again.” Doubtful of the 
import of this calm assurance, yet confiding 
in his power, she hastened to call the discon¬ 
solate Mary. At the mention of his name, 
she also ran to embrace him, and in the 
tones of bleeding love, used the same lan¬ 
guage of disappointment which just before 
stirred the soul of her returning Lord. 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


269 


The crowd who had gathered to extend 
their condolence, thought the mourners had 
gone to the tomb to weep in solitude, and 
they followed in the distance; for their sym¬ 
pathies had become excited, and tears fell 
like rain. When Jesus beheld the scene 
of lamentation, “ He groaned in spirit and 
was troubled.” Oh ! what internal agita¬ 
tion was there—how that bosom in which 
the faintest shadow of sin had never dim¬ 
med the unsullied light of moral excellence, 
was tossed with emotion, and what a “ mas¬ 
tery of love ” found utterance ; when he 
said, “ Where have ye laid him ?” “ Lord, 

come and see,” was the hopeful reply, as 
they turned in their grief to the sepulchre, 
which enshrined the decaying form of Laz¬ 
arus. Bending over it, “ Jesus wept.” 
The Jews marveled at his strong love for 
the sleeper, while he lifted his fervent 
prayer. Then, with a voice so loud it rang 


270 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


through the hopeless chamber of death, and 
over the bright tops of the celestial hills, he 
cried, “ Lazarus, come forth ! ” and the mo¬ 
tionless heart grew warm and stirred, the 
color mantled the bandaged cheek, and the 
light of a living soul, was rekindled beneath 
the parted lids! The buried friend of Christ 
again beheld Him, and loosed from the ha¬ 
biliments of the grave, greeted with wonted 
tenderness, the astonished yet joyful sisters. 

The gratitude, the raptures, and frequent 
interviews with the Son of God which fol¬ 
lowed, are lost with the countless words 
of wisdom and acts of mercy in the unwrit¬ 
ten history of Him who wasted no moments, 
and neglected no sufferer that crossed his 
path. 

A few days before the last passover, 
the Saviour went again to Bethany, with 
a company of disciples. The family on 
which he seemed to lavish his love and 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


271 


confidence, gave him a supper. Lazarus 
sat by his side, while Martha, with charac¬ 
teristic vivacity, and generous hospitality, 
prepared the feast; but Mary in her own 
beautiful sensibility, and a depth of feeling, 
noiseless as the tide that lies tranquilly in 
its unsounded caves, was reclining by the 
feet of Jesus. She poured upon them pre¬ 
cious ointment, till the perfume filled the 
apartment, and wiped those sacred limbs 
with the flowing ringlets of her raven hair. 

It was the occasion of bringing out the 
sordid and selfish spirit of Judas, who com¬ 
plained of Mary’s extravagance. The un¬ 
relenting malignity of his open enemies was 
also awakened by the presence of the bro¬ 
ther, He had recalled from the realm of the 
dead. Oh ! who can doubt the truthfulness 
of this simple story, when at no point can 
we pause and say, nature is not here, or 
who canquestion the strength and mad- 


272 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


ness of that depravity which could invade 
the sweet solemnities of such a scene"? 

It was the last visit of the Redeemer to 
Bethany—that anointing was for his burial 
—and he went to the “ City of his tears,” 
to be the martyr of a world—and a specta¬ 
cle of wonder to the universe he made, and 
which a breath of his power could sweep 
away like the gossamer web woven in the 
dew of morning. 

Among the many lessons of this biogra¬ 
phy, no one is more impressive than the law 
of kindness and charity, seen in all the nar¬ 
rative and enforced by the rebuke of Christ 
to Martha. She was a Christian, ever ac¬ 
tive, and prompt to do the external duties 
of religion. Because Mary was of a dif¬ 
ferent temperament, and more retiring, she 
judged her harshly, and the Redeemer who 
would not send her away from his feet. 

And so it often happens that a Godly 


MARTHA AND MARY. 


273 


person, uniform and serious in character, 
will condemn another whose animal spirits 
as naturally run high, and whose impul¬ 
ses are like the rushing wave. There 
is no apology for a sacrifice of principle — 
but let none sit self-complacently in judg¬ 
ment upon a fellow worm, when God by 
his forming hand, has emphatically “ made 
them to differ ”—but learn of Him who was 
meek and lowly of heart, by a frown of 
displeasure or a cruel word, never to “ break 
the bruised reed, or quench the smoking 
flax ; ” for life is formed of trifles , and their 
imperishable influence and value, will ap¬ 
pear in the grand summing up of the final 
Judgment. 
















































































. 


















































Christ ascended from Olivet, the Mount 
of his prayer, and with uplifted hands left 
upon the disciples who gazed after his lov¬ 
ed and vanishing form, a benediction per¬ 
petual as his militant church. They went 
forth in the stern heroism of primitive apos- 
tleship through the valleys of Judea, and to 
the cities that dotted them, and gemmed the 
shores of distant seas. 

Among these beacon-points of the Gospel, 






276 


DORCAS. 


was Joppa, or anciently Yaffil, on a prom¬ 
ontory of the Mediterranean coast, forty 
miles from Jerusalem. It was an ancient 
city, associated with the names of iEolus, 
and Andromeda of classical fiction—it is 
mentioned by Joshua, and was the port to 
which the cedars of Lebanon and treasures 
of kings were floated for the first and sec¬ 
ond Temples of the Holy City. Here 
Jonah embarked when he thought “ on 
the wings of the morning,” to flee from 
the hand of God. Juda Maccabeus, to 
avenge a broken treaty, drove two hundred 
Jews from its heights into the sea, and made 
a conflagration of the shipping, that like an 
opening volcano, illumined the wide grave 
that swept over them. And even Napo¬ 
leon’s legions in later time thundered be¬ 
fore its gates. 

But all these events recede into the dim¬ 
ness of eclipse, around the scenes which 


DORCAS. 


277 


have transpired in the dwelling of Tabitha, 
and which shall survive the cenotaphs of 
royal heroes as they successively moulder, 
written in the history and blending with 
the converse of Heaven. 

She was a pious woman, and distinguish¬ 
ed especially for an expansive and active 
benevolence—a deep and genial sympathy 
for the “ fatherless and the widow in their 
affliction.” She may have been bereft of a 
husband, and in the sad discipline of domes¬ 
tic calamities prepared for that sublimest 
effort of an immortal, doing good in a world 
where the funeral knell never ceases to roll 
its fearful cadence on the reluctant ear of 
the living, and tears fall more constantly 
than the nightly dew—and where hearts 
are breaking, and spiritual victories gained 
and battles lost, invested with an interest 
compared with which, a falling throne and 

vanishing empire, are no more than the shiv- 
13 


278 


DORCAS. 


erecl toy and bursting bauble on the play¬ 
ground of childhood. Or she may have* 
preferred like Hannah, of more recent mem¬ 
ory, the disencumbered activity of single life, 
and stood in vestal loveliness beside the 
altar of devotion to her risen Redeemer, 
whose voice of love seemed yet to linger in 
the air of Palestine. 

Whatever her condition, it is enough to 
know that she bent all her energies to imi¬ 
tate the faultless model of philanthropy, 
and extend the glory of His name by illus¬ 
trating the transcendent excellence of Chris¬ 
tian character. 

But in the midst of usefulness, death 
calls for the saint. It could not be other¬ 
wise than that she marked his approach 
with a smile, and went down untrembling- 
ly into the valley of gloom. The corpse 
was laid out in “ an upper chamber,” and 
from the hovels of the poor, and dwell- 


DORCAS. 


279 


ings of the rich, came the mourners to weep 
together, and look once more on the face it 
had been so pleasant to meet when upon 
her errands of mercy. Their thoughts turn¬ 
ed to Peter, whose faith and intellectual 
energy, won confidence, and maintained an 
influence unquestioned, among the disciples 
of Jesus. 

Two messengers hastened to Lydda, in¬ 
formed him of their irreparable loss, and re¬ 
quested him, without delay, to return with 
them to the house of mourning. When 
Peter entered the room, and saw the weep¬ 
ing widows Tabitha had comforted and 
clothed, encircling the dead, and also the 
garments she had made for the destitute; 
impressed by the spirit, He felt that her work 
was not done—the struggling church could 
not spare this shining light. 

He sent the unwilling group from the 
apartment in wondering silence, and knelt 


280 


DOllCAS. 


by the pale sleeper. It was not needful 
that his petition should be long, for it was 
the “ fervent, effectual prayer of the right¬ 
eous man.” Then looking upon the marble 
brow, he said, “ Tabitha, arise! ” The eye 
opened with its wonted lustre, and when 
she saw the noble apostle, she began to rise. 
Peter extended his hand, and calling to “ the 
saints and widows,” presented her again 
to their cordial greeting, while the news 
spread through the streets of Joppa. The 
skeptical were convinced, and many who 
had scorned the Nazarine, were added to 
the number of true believers. 

In Scripture, there is a uniform simplicity 
and beauty, which dwells upon no scene 
however inviting, if unimportant to the 
great design of Revelation. Mystery rests 
on the interval between the death and res¬ 
urrection of those restored to life—upon the 
inquiry whether they brought any tidings 


DORCAS. 


281 


from the unseen land, and their final depar¬ 
ture from earth. 

In reviewing the sacred annals of the 
past, we find that woman has often laid her 
hand on the springs of a world’s destiny, 
coiled in decisive events; and from her 
sanctified genius, have streamed the radi¬ 
ating lines of redeeming influence over the 
world. But it is in the circle of /iome, she 
puts forth a power exceeding all other hu¬ 
man agency. As a maiden, she can elevate 
and refine a brother, or strengthen upon 
him a taste for exciting pleasures, which 
shall hurry him away from the moorings of 
manly principle and promise, into the broad 
sweep of the current which descends at 
length into the abyss of moral ruin in time, 
blending its roar with the dash of those bil¬ 
lows which have no shore, and whose ship¬ 
wrecked victims find no oblivious grave. In 

the social relation, results are the same. 

13 * 


282 


DORCAS, 


As a wife, it is her’s to make the domes¬ 
tic scene attractive and benign in its influ¬ 
ence upon him whose happiness, and often 
destiny forever, is at her disposal under 
God. They are in one bark on the sea of 
life—and though he may be unskillful or er¬ 
ring, and sink her treasure of hope and joy, 
yet if she be true and holy, the barge will 
founder long before it goes darkly down, 
and she will disappear with the wreck 
like an angel of the troubled waters, to rise 
again with a martyr’s wreath, and a song of 
victory. 

As a mother, she leaves the moulding 
impress of her hand on her offspring, as the 
potter on the clay, he shapes to honor or 
dishonor. A pious and consistent mother 
always in the final issue has her reward. 
Nowhere does the terrific law, “ as a man 
soweth, so shall he also reap,” come in 
with more certain consequences than in 


DORCAS. 


283 


this relation. She may breathe her hal¬ 
lowed counsel in a reluctant ear— baptize 
a brow of shame with her tears, and lift 
her prayer with breaking heart over the 
couch of the thoughtless sleeper; but 
around that son, is flung a spell the song 
of revelry and the shout of blasphemy can 
never break. He will be haunted through 
the thousand-pathed labyrinth of sin, with 
an invisible presence, before whose gentle 
accents and heavenly face he will bow and 
weep. And though she go to the grave 
mourning for the wanderer, he shall come 
to the green mound in after life and make 
it the shrine of penitence and altar of con¬ 
secration to God. 

And silently as the morning light, her in¬ 
fluence goes forth everywhere ; as it once 
marred, so is it to be mighty in restoring the 
glorious image of the Deity to man. 


284 


DORCAS. 


-“ Oh ! if now, 

Woman would lift her noble wand she bore 
In Paradise so transcendent, and which still she wears 
Half-bidden though not powerless, and again 
Waive its magic power o’er pilgrim man, 

How would she win him from apostacy, 

Lure back the world from its dim path of w T oe, 

And open a new Eden on our years.” 






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